


Red (hiatus)

by nothingandeverything3



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Game: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare (2019)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 37,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingandeverything3/pseuds/nothingandeverything3
Summary: Laila Ahmed should have known a name change and a new home would never erase the memories of growing up in a war zone.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 16





	1. i (flash-back)

1999 , Urzikstan. 

6 year old Laila Ahmed's head peaks from under her covers to stare at the clock hanging on the opposite wall. She should have been asleep by now, but the young girl knew her friend would be at her window by the time the small hand points to ten. Laila quietly hums to herself, trying with all her might not to blink- she is afraid she'd blink and accidentally doze off. 

"Come on, almost there," her small voice cheers on quietly. "Just two more minutes." 

Once she hears the paws on the glass, Laila throws the covers off and gets up on her bed to open up the window. The familiar puppy is on his hind legs, tail wagging in excitement and the girl cannot help but feel excited with him. As noiselessly as she can, Laila opens up for the puppy and places her fingers on her lips as he jumps down onto her mattress.

"You have to be quiet," she whispers. "Shush!" 

The stray immediately makes his way to her lap once she sits down and attacks her by licking her face. She splutters at the abrupt action, scrambling to calm him down to no avail.

"Stop! That tickles!" Her giggles grow louder the more the tail wagging puppy continues his onslaught of affection, but she still manages to pick up on the approaching footsteps from the hallway. The puppy stops and his ears visibly perk to the sound, Laila quickly throwing the covers over them both to make it seem like she was sleeping all while concealing his presence. Her eyes quickly scrunch shut and she tries to avoid flinching as the door opens, the lights in her room flickering on. 

"Laila..." her mother starts suspiciously. "Did you invite a stray in?" Laila does not answer and remains acting asleep. "I know you're awake, Laila." 

The young girl opens one eye to look at her mother leaning against the doorframe, a hand on her hip. 

"No, mama." 

Her mother is not convinced in the slightest and one of her brows shoot up in amusement. "Then why is your window opened, young lady?" 

Laila looks over shoulder to see that her window, is in fact, open. Darn it. 

The woman makes her way to her daughter's bed and gently shuts the opened glass, lifting the covers away to see the stray fast asleep on the girl's legs. She rolls her eyes at the constant defiance of not letting animals inside the house at night, but doesn't chastise her for doing so. Laila is tucked in properly and she waits expectedly for her mama to tell her to put the puppy back outside, but the order never comes. 

"Keep your stomach covered or else you'll get a tummy ache in the morning. Good night you two." 

With that, Laila is enveloped in the darkness of her room again, but this time her sleeping companion with her. She hugs the puppy closer to her body and soon enough, the little girl is asleep, too. 

The strays in her neighborhood loved Laila and Laila loved them just as much as they did her. Not only did the young girl sneak her dinner out to them when her Mama wasn't looking, but surprisingly enough, she cared for their injuries that were within her expertise as well. Laila loved nothing more than to be a veterinarian when she got older and the professions of her parents helped her immensely with her childhood dreams. 

Qasim Ahmed, her baba, was a very well respected doctor who owned and worked in Ramaza Hospital. The other villagers knew his name and almost everyone had some sort of encounter with his medical talents or at least knew someone that had been in his care. 

Zainab Ahmed, her mama, was a very knowledgeable anatomy professor at an Urzikstani university. The students knew her for her interesting lectures and the red silken fabric she'd always wear to her lectures. The shade drew people's attentions in any room she walked in. 

Both excelled so greatly in their fields that they weren't merely known as a partner to the other- they were respected figures in their own perimeter and rightfully so. 

When Laila announced her love for animals and her desire to heal their pain, both Zainab and Qasim were proud. Any normal 6 year old would be given verbal appraisal and motivation to learn with the appropriate baby steps. However, they knew they would not be able to do 'baby steps'. The cruel reality was that Laila Ahmed is not any normal 6 year old. 

In fact, no Urzikstani child really was in 1999.

-

Laila jolts awake at the constant nudging at her face, only to find her friend jumping around in excitement. The light of the morning floods her room and she tiredly sits up to see the hyper puppy ready to be let out. He barks at her twice and she attempts to hush him. 

"Easy! I'm going, I'm going." She stands up on her bed just as she had the night before and opens the window. Gently picking up the puppy, she sets him outside to which he gives her cheek a slobbery lick of farewell and she watches him run off to his pack of neighborhood strays with a soft smile. 

"See you later, friend." 

She can hear the sound of the kitchen table being prepped for breakfast and her stomach grumbles at the thought of the food. Laila makes her bed and washes up quickly before making her way to the kitchen. "

"Good morning, little poppy," Her father smiles. He is sat with a teddy bear in his hands, waiting expectantly for her to take a seat at the table with him. "Sleep well?" 

“I did.” She yawns. “Good morning, Baba.” 

Her mother snorts at the latter, because she knows her daughter was up waiting to let the puppy inside the house. "Your daughter stayed up, again." 

"Of course! Our little veterinarian. Who was it this time?" 

She blushes at the appraisal and shyly looks away. "The puppy- the one that scratched his paw." 

"Ah, yes. The baby. I should've known he took a liking to you. You cleaned that scratch all up for him, after all-" 

"Speaking of Laila, you are to eat every last crumb on this plate. You're not going to give your breakfast out to your friends today. Look at her face! You've gotten pale!" Her mother warns, setting a warm plate of zatar bread in front of the young girl. "Eat." 

"Yes mama," the child huffs. She snags a bite of the bread defeatedly, the rich herbs and warmth of the bread satisfying. She'd be sure to give extra scraps today for dinner later on when she gets the chance to sneak away. 

Laila looks back to the teddy bear in her father's hands and he smiles once more at her. 

"Is that for me, baba?" He nods his head and places a needle with thread next to the stuffed animal. 

He began to tear the bear's limbs apart messily and the young girl watches as he ruins the toy in silence. This was an every day occurrence. After several minutes, Qasim places all the torn parts next to her plate and carefully hands the needle to his daughter. 

"You know what to do, Laila. Just like I taught you." 

The young girl looks at the needle in her hand hesitantly and looks back up to her father as he sends her an encouraging nod. Laila nervously begins to sow the bear back together, alternating between the task at hand and eating her bread. 

She'd done this countless times and she'd done a rather rubbish job every time, but for a six year old it is impressive to be stitching in general. "Remember what I said, poppy- you need to be sure of yourself. With confidence, you'll grow up to be just like your mama and baba." 

As she chews her breakfast, she sneaks a look at her mama now tying her red neckerchief in the mirror. Zainab was a beautiful woman and carried herself with the confidence Qasim wanted their daughter to take after. The scarlet of the silk bandana suited her mother's dark hair and Laila wonders if red suited her, too. The girl glances back at the teddy bear slowly but surely becoming one piece again. 

Laila goes back to work, listening to her father's guidance along the way. 

"You're going to make us so proud, little one. You're going to be the best vet Urzikstan has ever seen." 

-

The sound of the stray dogs moving the glass plate against the gravel as they feast rings throughout the alley. Laila studies them enjoying some of her food contently and realizes the sun would be setting soon, deciding it'd be best to make her way back inside. She knows she'd have to be quiet opening the door or else she'd never hear the end of her mother's scolding. 

Laila kicks at some rocks in her path with her small feet, softly humming to some songs her father would play on the oud on those rare occasions. Urzikstan is warm and dry, the sun bathing the cities in its golden rays. Her mama would always say that there were only two seasons of the year in the motherland- winter and summer. However, the young girl seemed to love both equally and didn't really have a preference. She enjoys feeling this heat as she walks. 

Stopping her humming, Laila gently cracks open the door a bit and can hear a hushed argument between her parents and she cannot help but frown. Mama and baba never argued. It feels wrong to eavesdrop and Laila is not comfortable doing so, but there is something strange about seeing them so distressed. They were always happy around Laila. 

"The liberation cannot be knocking on our doors for help Qasim, you know that! The Russians will suspect you're a freedom fighter." Zainab bites out and Qasim looks worn out, a palm covering his tired face. 

"They will not take me away for being a doctor. The work I do outside of the hospital is still medical work-"

"He called you Al-Shafi, Qasim! You're making a name for yourself and they will see that as a threat if they find out who you are-" 

"Zainab, nothing will happen to you -" 

"I'm not worried about me, you fool! I'm worried about Laila. She doesn't need to know about these things. She's only a child! You saw what they did to the other cities. The locals who survived said they even took children as prisoners. It's only a matter of time..." 

Laila parts her lips at what they are discussing and she doesn't understand any of it. Russians? Prisoners? What danger did her mama imply and what is her baba doing outside of the hospital? 

"They will find us, Qasim."

"And if that day comes, you know what to do." 

It is silent in the kitchen and Laila gnaws at her lip harshly to refrain from crying, but the tears still manage to trail down noiselessly. It hurt to see her parents so upset and she doesn't understand what is wrong. Is this why her baba insisted on teaching her early? Was he going to be gone some day? 

"I know, but..." Zainab stammers and she throws herself into her husband's chest, shuddering at whatever is going through her mind. Qasim kisses the top of her forehead, lingering a bit before holding her close as she weeps. "This isn't fair. We are all innocent. Laila is innocent I can't bear the thought of her growing up in this war." 

"Shush now, everything will be alright. We need to be strong," he advises. "Be strong for our little girl." 

Laila cannot tear her eyes away from the sight of them so broken down and so lost- it is a sight she'd never thought she'd see from two brave people and a seemingly very well put together couple. 

Her mother clutches at the red scarf around her neck as she cries and Qasim closes his eyes, like he is trying to pause that moment and tuck it away in his mind forever. 

The young girl does not dare make a noise when she sneaks inside to her room, her parents too wrapped up in their own grief to notice her presence. Their grief for their country, their peace, their family, their child and her innocence. Laila does not understand what is going on. Why do they call her father Al-Shafi?

She crawls under her covers, leaving her window open for any of the strays to enter and leave as they pleased. Laila doesn't want to be awake right now as it seems like her world is crashing all around her by things she is in the dark about. She feels scared. 

Small. 

The house rattles from a booming in the distance. Her mother used to calm her and tell her they were just fireworks- that everything was okay.Laila doesn't know how much of that she believes anymore. 

It seems like from that day forward, nothing was ever going to be okay.


	2. ii  - (flash-back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a longer chapter, but I hope Laila’s character is clear now! I might move some stuff around just so any new readers know

November 2002 , Urzikstan

The winter was harsh for the refugee camp and food during this time, unfortunately, very scarce.

Zainab Ahmed's face grew slimmer over the course of a few grueling months. 

As much as she gave up some of her rations for her daughter, Laila still managed to lose weight as well. Her soft, full cheeks that indicated a very jubilant childhood were now gone and instead a grim face of famine and troubled nights painted itself gradually onto her daughter's face. 

At the beginning, Zainab never knew Laila would stay up all night until she had woken up to get a drink of water, stumbling on her daughter drawing little pictures of birds in the sand with her nimble fingers. 

Her worries emerged when she had questioned the 9 year old what was wrong and she had snapped at her. 

It was the first time she ever heard her daughter snarl like that. The tone wasn't that of a bratty child displaying signs of rebellion. There was exasperation and grief manifesting itself inside her once gentle baby when Zainab heard the words 'leave me alone'. 

Laila, the young girl who loved animals and insisted her parents gave her a hug every night before bed. Laila, the neighborhood's favorite girl who always waved at them on their porches and helped the elderly tend their gardens. The Ahmed child who shyly hid behind her mother's legs whenever meeting someone new. 

Whatever delicacy and innocence that was in little Laila was ripped away the day Qasim Ahmed was taken by the Russians. 

Zainab lost her husband and now she feared she was losing her daughter, as well.

\- 

December 2002 Urzikstan

"Mama, my toes feel so cold," Laila whispers into Zainab's neck. She fiddles with the short ends of the red scarf tied around her mother's throat and sighs. 

They both had slipped into the same sleeping bag in hopes of keeping themselves warm during the frosty morning, but it seems the weather was only going to get more ruthless. 

"It's okay, my love. Bring them in between my feet." Zainab wraps her arms tighter around the frail girl. She's practically shivering now and Laila wishes for Urzikstan's warm summer to return. 

The sound of wailing newborns and grumbling elders fills the frigid air, Laila a tad irritated by the noises. She misses the quiet. 

However, there is a peculiar commotion that sticks out from the distance and she raises her small head from the warmth of Zainab's body. 

"What is it Laila?" She questions. "Are you alright?" 

Her daughter ignores the questions and instead, slowly gets up and walks away. 

"Laila!" She pleadingly calls to her daughter as she sprints from the set up of tents. "Laila, where are you going?" 

Zainab tries to keep up with her as best as she can, the other refugees watching on in concern at the mother and daughter duo. 

Just then, Laila abruptly comes to a stop and her mother pauses a few ways behind her as they begin to make out the outline of military convoys heading towards their camp. Everyone freezes instinctually out of fear once the vehicles stop. Zainab struggles to find her footing in order to grab her daughter away from their new visitors. Before she can do so, they both hear whispers in Arabic from over their shoulders. 

"British..." 

"What are they doing here?" 

"Did the Russians send them?" 

The murmurs stop as a man hops out of one the vehicles, the frosted ground crunching underneath his heavy boots. Laila flinches as he walks up to her, a hand raising towards her frame, and she can feel her mother tugging her sleeve as she pulls her into the safety of her arms. 

It isn't until the stranger's facial expression changes that the two realize he was smiling. Instead, something tender twinkles in his eyes now and Zainab can only hope that it is compassion behind the look and not pity. 

"My apologies," he begins gently. "I can assure we mean no harm. I was only trying to say hi to you, little one." He now turns to address the mother studying him with skepticism. "Hello. Do you speak any English?" 

"Yes," Zainab hesitantly starts "I-" 

"She is professor. Of course mama is speaks English!" Laila interrupts. She throws herself out of her mother's slack grip, angry at the audacity of this soldier. 

The man grins at the girl's deficiency in the English langage, but found himself slightly admiring her outspokenness despite not being a native speaker. 'A firecracker, that one.'

Her mother looks bloody exhausted and worry stricken now, the humor in the situation disappearing instantly.

"Khalas, Laila! What is the matter with you?" 

The girl grits her teeth at the scolding and it drains all the energy out of her when she marches away. 

She is so thirsty that she can't even muster any tears, because of the lack of water in her body. Everything was growing more frustrating and now these men who dressed the same as the ones who took her baba have followed them to this horrible place to probably make it even more horrid. Brilliant. 

How dare he talk to mama like she is stupid? Her parents were one of the most intelligent people that Laila knew and it was as though he was insinuating they've been living like this their entire lives. They had a warm house. They had an education. Her mama knew English. They had good food and technology before their arrival to this refugee camp- it was just gone now. 

Laila doesn't hear her mama call for her and she hesitantly looks back to see Zainab still speaking with the British soldier. Her bottom lip quivers at the sight and she continues to storm towards her secret place. 

Her little spot wasn't anything grand or magnificent. It was just far, far away from everyone and that in itself was enough to be a safe haven in her mind.

She plops on to the cold ground and rests her head on her bent up knees, immediately shutting her eyes. The weather is freezing, but Laila didn't care in the slightest despite the numbness beginning to settle in her toes. Her heart felt numb, too. 

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting like this until she hears the familiar sound of boots and a sudden weight falls around her body. Picking her head up from her knees, she sees a heavy blanket and grips onto the sides, wrapping it tighter around her frame. 

Laila looks up at the standing figure and finds the soldier from earlier smiling down at her. She can't help, but still flinch and wonders if he's going to take her away, just like baba, for yelling at him. 

"You were right. I shouldn't have asked such a silly question," he unexpectedly regrets. The young girl looks away out of embarrassment. "Mind if I join you, lass?" 

"Lass?" She pronounces slowly, testing the new word on her tongue. 

"Lass," He confirms. "Like girl or woman." 

"Oh," she responds thoughtfully. Laila replays the word in her head until it is engraved in her memory. "Lass." 

The man takes this as an okay to take a seat on the ground next to her and stares out into the distance with the young girl. 

"I'm Sergeant Adams." He extends a hand out for her to shake. "You can call me Thomas, though." 

She hesitates, but a small hand eventually pops out from inside her new blanket to shake his. "Thomas...my name is Laila." 

"That is a rather lovely name. Pleasure to meet you, Laila." The soldier- Thomas- seems quite alright and she regrets being so rude to him earlier. 

"I'm sorry for yelling," Laila whispers and he turns his head to peer at her. 

"Oh, nonsense!" He shrugs off. "There is no need for you to feel sorry. You were just trying to protect your mummy."

She hesitantly nods, not knowing how to tell him she wasn't trying to protect anyone. Laila was just angry. 

However, as the sergeant offers a Jaffa Cake to her and converses with Laila about every animal she'd ever helped before the war. Her anger seems to float away elsewhere. 

Thomas Adams can't help noting how this girl, skin and bones, shared her dessert with him. 

-

March 2003 Urzikstan

Nine year old Laila wasn't really excited for her birthday coming up in May. The only reason why she is pondering about it so early is because she can't help, but think of how this would be her first year without baba. She'd be turning ten. However, she couldn't help but feel much older than that. 

Sergeant Adams, who had eventually become a friendly and familiar face around the camp, grew particularly close to the Ahmed girls. He told Laila one morning that she reminded him of his own daughter back home and even had a giggle that kind of mirrored hers. He'd sneak her Jaffa cakes and watched in awe as she helped her mother nurse the ill and wounded around the camp. For such a young lass, she was clearly knowledgeable in the medical field. He knew Zainab was an anatomy professor and figured the husband was the doctor. He taught his daughter extremely well. 

The British swung by very often and Zainab could deduce that they were offering aid to the civilians affected by the wars. They did, after all, give Russia its blessing to invade Urzikstan and perhaps this was the government's idea of reparations. She couldn't help the bitterness and think ' ah yes, thank you for the assistance in destroying our homes.' 

Whatever was done, Thomas Adams certainly felt remorse for what happened despite not being directly involved. Even he couldn't help growing miffed as he witnessed the poor conditions the Urzikstani people were living in and sometimes he could see his daughter whenever he looked at Laila- frail and innocent. He couldn't imagine seeing his own child live like this. 

Gradually, more soldiers visited their camp and other camps nearby to drop off donations of food and new clothing. Some of them were local and Laila heard the refugees call them freedom fighters, but she couldn't help questioning why they were called that. 

Her mother seemed to grow worried at their presence, because these were the people the Russians went great lengths trying to hunt down. Zainab eventually pieced together that they were secretly working with the West in an attempt to stop the invasion of Russia. The rest of the world probably didn't know about this, because it would be a contradictory move. Zainab had always hated politics. 

The war felt like it was following them inside this camp and no matter where they turned, it would always rear its ugly head eventually. 

Zainab Ahmed felt dreadful knowing Laila would grow up in this, wondering if her daughter would even make it to her teens.

-

April 2004 Urzikstan 

Laila can't stop her constant thrashing in her sleeping bag, not finding it in her to fall asleep. This is a normal occurrence for her. She chooses to give up, opening her eyes and settles with staying awake until her body forces her to find slumber. 

It isn't until she hears vehicles driving towards the camp that she closes her eyes again to pretend to be asleep. 

Laila wonders what is happening. The soldiers never came at night and she can't help but fear that, perhaps, these are the Russians coming to get them. She scrunches her eyes and waits to see who is exiting the vans. 

"This way brothers." 

The Arabic makes her shoulders relax and she slightly opens one lid to see other men from the camp join the freedom fighters. She can recognize the soldier's faces and finds solace knowing that they weren't dangerous. Laila does not know what she would've done had they actually been the Russian army. 

Her eyebrows furrow when she sees the men and fighters exit the camp, sitting up in confusion. The way they were quietly walking around made it seem like something was not quite right and she watches on as they walk far away with guns in hand. 

She does not think much of it and Laila snuggles back into her sleeping bag after a minute of stillness, closing her eyes in another attempt to fall asleep. 

The younger girl wonders what time it is as she gets up, still unable to find sleep, and walks towards her secret spot. That always seemed to make her tired. On some occasions, her mama would find her napping in that field when she saw her empty sleeping bag the following morning. 

Laila gasps quietly as she sees a man in her spot, touching the ground as though he were searching for something in pitch black darkness. She realizes this man might be blind and takes tentative steps towards him to offer him help. Laila doesn't recall ever seeing this man around here before and can only hope he is not with the Russians. 

"Did you need help, amo?" She asks lightly, to which the man sits up. 

His eyes are glassy, but he still manages to face her as though he can see her and smiles at the sound of the child-like voice. 

"It is late, daughter. Trouble sleeping?" He assumes her silence is a yes and he does not need to press farther than that. Urzikstan's children always struggle to find peaceful slumber. "I've lost something very important." 

She gets on her knees, mimicking the man's position and begins to look around with him for what he might've dropped. She crawls only a few feet away when she finds nothing around them and continues her search. It is quiet, but she knows he has stopped looking and expects her to find whatever it is he's misplaced. A glint of metal catches the young girl's eyes and she tilts her head out of curiousity. 

Laila doesn't go to grab it when she makes out the outline of a pistol. 

"Have you found it, daughter?" He inquires.

She struggles to find her words. The man is clearly not dangerous, but something in the air changes once she finds the object. Laila does not want to pick it up. 

He hums at her continuous silence. 

"I assume you've never picked up a gun, child," the man points out and Laila nods her head, but quickly remembers he cannot see her. 

"Y-yes," she stammers, not sure what to make of this situation. Should she run away? Should she just pick it up and give it to him? Help him get up so he can grab it instead? There's another beat of quietness, but something seems to be screaming in her head. 

"What is your name?" 

"Laila. Laila Ahmed." 

"Ahmed." The man seems to be familiar with the last name. "You are Al- Shafi's daughter, aren't you?" 

Al-Shafi...she has heard of that name before...

The young girl perks up once she realizes that he knows baba and a small smile plays at her lips. 'He knows him!'

"Yes, I am," she confirms proudly. He seems to grin at the delight of the young girl and he nods his head to indicate that, yes, she should be proud. 

"He was a great man. A true freedom fighter." 

Laila is perplexed. Were they talking about the same person? A freedom fighter? 

"No, baba was a doctor!" She laughs, but her grin fades as the young girl realizes he isn't joking. "Wait, he was a soldier?" 

"You don't know? Has your mama not told you the great things Al-Shafi has done with us for your motherland?" There's something in his tone that she cannot seem to place a finger on, but the idea that her father was a fighter, just like Sergeant Adams, makes her very intrigued.

"No. She didn't..." The young girl trails off, hoping this man would reveal everything about her baba that she didn't already know. Laila is only a child, but even she is aware that once he tells her, it cannot be unheard and mentally prepares herself. 

She wavers before she politely asks, "Will you tell me about baba, amo?" 

"Sit, daughter. I shall tell you everything." 

Laila is so enamored by the invitation that the gun is pushed to the very back corner of her mind. 

"Al-Shafi- the curer. A very brave doctor for the resistance and an even better soldier..." 

She held on to every word that the blind man spoke about Qasim and Laila learned things about him that she couldn't even imagine were possible. 

The man who played the oud to her when she couldn't sleep and kept a lit cigarette hanging from his lips as he read Arabic poetry. The man who taught her to stitch and clean up a wound. The man who told her she would be the best veterinarian in Urzikstan and always danced with her mama after they ate dinner. 

He was Al-Shafi. 

The man who stole medical supplies from Russian bases and did not hesitate to take a life and despite this, managed to save just as many. Even tear gassed, he could extract a bullet from an injury in the field like the procedure was nothing. Laila could not help but gasp at the piece of information, her eyes alight with wonder. 

"Is that why everyone called him Al-Shafi?" 

His glassy eyes look into the distance and he remains quiet in deep thought for a second. 

"Qasim," The man starts. "Didn't just stitch our wounds and cure our sicknesses- he shot a gun in the name of his homeland. Just like all brave soldiers do." 

Laila subconsciously turns her head into the direction of the gun she had found earlier and her stare never wavers from the deadly object. 

"Pick up the gun, Laila." 

Her head snaps to him and she refrains from flinching when his empty eyes find hers. The young girl suddenly feels frightened. 

"The gun? Amo, I've never used one of those things. They kill people-" 

"Where is baba now? Is he here? With you and mama?" His questions sound calm, but the words seemed like they were screaming in her head. "Did the Westerners kill him? Tell me, girl." 

Her eyes begin to water as she stammers, "He's gone. They tied him up in the kitchen and they took him. Mama and I hid...like he told us to..." 

"You see, child?" The man leans in closer to her. "Do you see why you must learn to fight? First it is the father, then they will take the mother, and then they go for the children. Pick up the gun." 

"But the British-" 

"The British and the Americans helped the Russians take your baba away. They took many mamas and babas away. They want to see us die from their proxy wars and filthy greed. Once the Russians weaken Urzikstan, the rest of the West will kill whatever is still alive. Don't you see? We cannot trust anyone. I am their ally fighting their wars, but they do not trust me even now. We will always be the enemy in their eyes." 

"Yallah. Pick it up." 

She blinks at the words that seem to have taken a great effect on her, still processing it all. Would Sergeant Adams really hurt her and her mother? Did he truly see her as an enemy? 

"The gun, Laila." 

She hesitates. "Oh. Alright." 

Laila gets up from her criss cross position slowly, brushing the dirt off of her legs and daring another glance towards the weapon. She bends down, her fingertips brushing the cool surface to test the waters. The man sitting a few ways behind her doesn't rush or order her to do anything else. Instead, he lets her become accustomed to the gun up close.

Her small fingers wrap themselves around the gun and the weight of it feels slightly heavy in her grip. "What do I do now, amo?" 

"How are you holding it?" 

She tells him both hands are holding the barrel and he clicks his tongue. "Come here, child. I will guide you." 

The girl returns to her criss cross position, but this time, in front of him. She slowly extends her arms forward, afraid she might startle him, but he knows she's there by the sound of her fidgeting. His hands, callous and almost as cold as the metal in her grasps, gently pluck her fingers from the gun one hand at a time. He directs her precisely to the grip of the pistol, closing her palms around it. 

"This not a toy. Always keep your hand here," he firmly orders. "Are you listening?" 

"Yes, amo." 

"Very good. Now get up." She does as he says.

"There is an empty bottle next to me. Set it up further away from here, daughter. Not too far. Then come back to me."

Judging by the sand covering the Vimto glass, it has been laying here for some time. The cap is missing and Laila finds herself craving the sweet drink as she catches a whiff, but chooses to focus on the task at hand. She walks back over to where she stood initially, turning to him expectedly. 

"I did it, amo." 

"Now, you can learn to shoot." 

Initially, Laila was incredibly off with her aiming and the unexpected recoil was strong enough to throw her onto her back. Her ears were ringing unbearably and the gun had clattered to the ground as her hands flew up to cup her ears instinctively. 

He told her to pick herself up and that the more she grew accustomed to the noise of gunshots, the better off she'd be. Laila didn't know how long she'd been practicing or listening keenly to his pointers until she noticed the sun beginning to rise. 

Only then did she keep her aim steady on the glas. He knew she managed to finally hit her target once he heard the shattering, a hint of a smile gracing his features. 

"I did it..." Laila breathes out. "I shot the glass!" 

"Yes, you did. Soon enough you'll have made a name for yourself just as baba had." 

"A name? Like Al-Shafi?" 

"Very much so. All martyrs will get their names, soon. Only then will Urzikstan be free. Unfortunately, we must remain loyal to the west. It is our only option for now." Laila looks at him a bit lost, processing his words. 

"And do you have a name, amo?" 

"Not yet." 

Laila hadn't realized it then, but her mother had seen and heard everything, tears noiselessly trickeling down her face. She knew Urzikstan would no longer be safe for the girl.

She should've known Omar Sulaman expected Laila to follow in her father's footsteps and help him with whatever deranged plan he had in store. He was a wolf on the prowl for a pack. Zainab knew her husband was not much of a household name for the local fighters. Sulaman was only trying to manipulate her daughter.

Seeing her little girl holding such a lethal thing in her hand, the same hands that once cared for animals, shattered Zainab's heart.

Zainab, as much as she despised the idea, knew she had to speak with Sergeant Adams as soon as possible. She had overheard the mothers in the camp discussing a program designed for Urzikstani children and the reality of it all began to fall in place in front of her. 

Oh, Qasim. I hope I'm doing the right thing...I just want Laila to be safe. 

-

May 2002 Urzikstan 

It wasn't until a week before her daughter's birthday that Zainab had discreetly woken up Laila at an ungodly hour. There is a sense of urgency in the way that her mother was beckoning her outside and Laila feels a bit anxious at her mama's silence once they walked further away from the tents. Despite the hot mornings, the nights blessed them with a refreshing breeze. 

However, Laila finds it difficult to enjoy the weather while watching her mama pace around frantically, a sheen of sweat on the woman's forehead. 

"Is everything okay, Mama? You look upset. Did something happen?"

It is tense as Zainab bites on her thumb to seemingly calm her nerves- too hesitant to speak. 

"You know, your father bought me this scarf. He said red looked beautiful on me." Her mother unties the fabric around her neck and begins to wrap it around her daughter's quickly. She cups Laila's face in her hands adoringly. 

"I want you to have it. You look just as beautiful in red." 

Just then, a car pulls up to where they are standing and Laila sends a questioning glance to Zainab. It is not until her mama holds out a packed bag and papers towards her that she realizes what is going to happen.

"We are leaving. Why?"

"It's getting dangerous here Laila. Your father would want us to leave and to be safe. We are going to go far, far away from here. Some of the fighters are planning something. I don't know what, but it doesn't feel right." 

With a bit more persuasion, Laila finally enters the car. 

She knows the man in the driver's seat to be a British soldier who had visited the refugee camp often and was overall kind to them. She smiles at him, but he only musters to send a sad one back. Laila frowns at the new atmosphere inside the car and everything is beginning to feel very stuffy. 

She goes to question why Sergeant Thomas Adams is looking at her like that until she hears the clicking sound of the car doors locking. 

Her mama did not get in with her. 

Laila slowly looks out the backseat window to see the tearful sight of her mother, a small smile on her lips despite the clear anguish in her eyes. 

The young girl panics at what is really happening. Laila feels like she is reliving the time she had seen Russians press their boots to her father's face on their kitchen floor.

"Mama?"

Before she can go unlock the door, Thomas Adams steps on the gas and he hears the girl kick at the windows over the roaring engine.

"Let me out! I have nobody without her! You monsters, let me out!" 

Had she looked at the rear view mirror, she'd seen the tears building in Sergeant Adams eyes at what he was witnessing. He didn't like the idea of separating a child from their mother, but Zainab made it abundantly clear she wanted Laila to go far away from Urzikstan- begged, even. 

And far away was exactly where Laila would go. 

The girl watches as her mother fades into the distance. Her tears make everything blurry and she cannot help but curl into the backseat, sobbing the entire way. 

Unfolding the papers, she stares at the passport with a photo of her face and she can't help crying even louder. Her name hadn't read Laila Ahmed. 

She was Lily Adams now.

-

Laila was sent to live in the United Kingdom and briefed that many kids were being sent overseas at the citizenship office. 

They had heard word that children were being captured as POWs by Russian militants. The Liberation's allies knew they had to try and keep them safe while they attempted to figure out what was really happening in Urzikstan.

There was a relocation of young refugees by the hundreds and Zainab pleaded Laila be one of them. Sergeant Adams knew he had to do his part and chose to make Laila one of his own. For her own safety, with Zainab's permission, he changed her name and gave her his family's last name instead. 

Being in the U.K so abruptly was culture shock in it of itself. Just yesterday she was in in the middle of a war torn country and now she was in a quaint British city. 

Laila was utterly traumatized and concluded she did not wish to think about Urzikstan anymore. 

She would be lying if she said she didn't feel even the slightest bit of anger towards her mother. Maybe they could've at least talked things through and came up with a plan to flee together.She wondered if it had anything to deal with how distant she had grown from Zainab. Laila could only feel her anger growing even more at the thought. 

She didn't fucking care about Urzikstan- she would never have to be Laila Ahmed again. 

Years passed and the girl began to lose her Arabic accent. A slightly English one started to find home in her tongue and she eventually warmed up toward the idea of erasing everything that made her Urzikstani. 

Laila was now Lily. 

Despite this, she was always seen as different- inferior even- amongst her peers. No matter how much she had changed herself, it is was though the people around her could sense she was a foreigner. An alien. 'Lily' never made friends with her classmates and she noticed being homeschooled, practically most of her life, made socializing even more difficult. No one wanted to be her friend. Not even the local strays took a liking to her and she found herself yearning for the animals in her childhood. 

With much reluctance, Lily decided to study pre-med in university at the age of 17. She proved to be smarter than the schools expected and the girl managed to graduate early. However, despite her maturity and intelligence, by law she was required to stay with the Adams family until of legal age. 

She didn't interact with the family of three much, nor did she desire to. 'Lily' already had a mum and she already had a dad, but the world decided to split them apart from one another. The whole world seemed to be playing a joke on her when she realized the sergeant's family dynamics mimicked her old one. Dad, mum, and daughter. To any passerby, there were two Adams girls, but Lily knew she would never be one of the couple's own. 

It's a slap in the face to be forced to call strangers mum and dad when her real ones were still out there. 

Nonetheless, Thomas Adams and his wife welcomed her into their home, but she never seemed to be able to run away from her memories. Whenever Thomas was stationed outside of the U.K, she couldn't help but remember her own father's absence working as a freedom fighter (which she learned was the reasoning from Sulaman). The girl was a tad grateful for the sergeant's absences, because just looking at him prompted her of the day she was separated from mama. 

The girl figured he had only taken her in as a way of clearing a guilty conscious for being the driver. He always had that look in his eyes whenever she came out of her room. 

It wasn't until Lily was 20 years old that she decided to travel back to Urzikstan. She had turned on the telly and recognized a familiar man on the news. 

The year was 2013 when the group Al-Qatala had made national headlines. Normally, the young woman shut off anything about the motherland, but the face of Omar Sulaman stopped her dead in her tracks. 

He was blind and his voice filled with an intense anger. An anger that mimicked his voice when he had told young Laila that the Russians would go after mama had she not learned to fire a gun. 

All the pent up guilt began to eat away at her heart right then in that moment. The hallow eyes of Sulaman seemed to leer at her through the screen. 

Looks like he had gotten his name, after all.

Lily was sitting in the comfort of her own apartment while her people suffered. She was going to become a doctor to help those who had plenty of it instead of carrying out her father's legacy- a legacy that was going to be tainted by terrorists if she didn't do something about it. All this time, Laila finally realized she was a coward hiding behind Lily. She should've went back to her mother when she turned 18. 

Al-Theeb.

She felt her blood run cold and quickly turned off the TV, studying the black screen. Laila knew she had to go back. 

So she did.


	3. iii - (flash-back)

2016 - Urzikstan 

The sweat trickles down the side of Laila's temple, but she's become so accustomed to the sweltering sun that she grew up under (once upon a time) that it did not bother her. She doesn't find it necessary to squint through the brightness anymore, though something is still off to her. 

Yes it was the same sun, but this was a different Laila. 

A hushed, high pitched whistle flies out of her lips like a third language, never taking her eyes away from the figure in the distance. The sniper in her hands is scoped in, unfortunately, on him and she maintains the weapon trained at their potential target. No matter how long she'd been holding one now, the object in her hand still feels foreign. Sometimes it even felt wrong and uncomfortable when she dwelled on it for a minute too long. 

"Do you see him, sister?" 

The Arabic echoes in her ears and she scrunches one eye shut, a finger carefully wrapping around the trigger. "Ah, Farah." 

"Good." 

The desert is silent and the only thing anyone can hear now is the wind picking up dusts of sand, but Laila still hears the faint sound of the soldier's boots sinking into the dunes and it's absolutely deafening in her mind. 

The man must suspect something is awry as she watches his head turn in every which direction of his surroundings. Paranoia. She reckons the man has strong instincts, because he was right to be cautious at this moment. 

"Now, sister." 

As soon as the order is given by the commander, Laila watches through her scope as blood gushes from the soldier's skull and she allows her finger to relax on the trigger. He falls with a thump that is luckily suppressed by the bed of sand beneath him and the wind picks up in strength, the dead body now slightly obscured from sight. "Yallah, Khalid. Get rid of him quickly." 

"Yes, commander." 

Laila maneuvers her position to provide cover for her fellow comrade as he drags the body at Farah's okay. She tries not to double take at the life she had just taken and does not dare to move a muscle, too afraid she might fall victim to her gnawing guilt. 

The activity surrounding the small Russian base is minimal and the Liberation knows Barkov's absence is to blame for this. Security would be more impressive had the general been close by. There was nothing of high value to the West here either or else the Americans would be involved. However, for Laila and her future wounded patients, here was the mother of all holy grails. Medical supplies. 

"It's taken care of, sister." 

"Nicely done, Khalid." 

They wait in bated breath, making sure no one had been alerted of their presence. Laila hears a low whistle from another location and begins to quickly dig a temporary pit for the sniper. She's thankful for how easy it is to scoop it up and she cannot help, but bask in the silkiness of the sand. It is like the soft grains were washing the blood off her hands each time they slipped through her fingers. 

Satisfied with her handiwork, Laila gets up from her prone position and fixes the headscarf concealing most of her features. Half of it was to conceal her identity and the other being protection from the harsh sandstorms. Her eyes peek through the covering and she takes a glance towards her Lieutenant several feet away. Hadir observes the perimeter through his scope and she waits patiently for his signal. 

"Hold," Farah warns. 

She crouches down once more and sets her eyes on one of the many tents. A man emerges from inside and she knows the sand is doing a decent job at hiding the liberation fighters. The Westerners were not adapted to Urzikstan's deserts, but Laila and the rest of them certainly were. Now there was a silent dilemma- kill him or don't kill him? Everything was stagnant until Farah let out a low-pitched, drawn out whistle. 

Don't kill him. 

The soldiers watch on as the Russian retrieves water from a well nearby, greedily downing the liquid in his canteen. Laila tries not to think about how this may be his last drink and mentally crosses her fingers that he doesn't get in the way of their plans. It would be a shame to have to kill him later on when she knew this was a sort of intimacy witnessing someone grin once they've quenched their thirst. It was like seeing someone open a gift and basking in the joy within their own privacy. 

Maybe she's overthinking the situation, but Laila always found it difficult to keep the emotional side of war at bay. She could not help but wonder what this man would ask to drink if he knew it was his last day. Water? Milk? Or perhaps alcohol? 

Laila doesn't even notice the soldier had retreated back inside the tent. 

"You know what to do now." 

Farah's voice wakes her up from her thoughts and she shakes off the skepticism. Laila can practically feel Hadir's eyes on her and she knows he's caught her doing a bad habit. The eldest Karim crawls his way to her and she looks around to ensure no one has come out of their tents again. She knows he wants to tell her something out of everyone's earshot. 

"We've talked about this. You've done this plenty of times, Laila. If you keep thinking, you'll endanger all of us." He reminds her. "I'll go if-" 

"No, I'll do it." She stops him as he attempts to drop down from the sandhill. "Like you said, I've done this plenty of times." 

He frowns at her and she reassures him she'll be okay. "Sister, quickly. Before someone comes," Farah advises. 

Laila sends a tight lipped smile at the lieutenant and mentally chastises herself on leaving room for him to doubt her. The Karim siblings had helped her learn to become a freedom fighter and Hadir was always worried by her ability to go soft so quickly. She didn't want him to think he was a rubbish teacher, because it truthfully isn't his doing. Laila can still feel his stare as she drops down and tries to ignore him altogether. 

Unholstering her pistol, she edges closer to the base and knows she'll be in the clear once she gets near something she can hide behind if need be. Being out in the open like this was too risky. 

"We have you covered. Keep approaching the base, sister," Hadir directs. 

The sand underneath her bare feet slightly burns her soles, but she's grown so familiar to the hot sand that it is now a bearable sensation. It was quieter this way and she didn't have to stress about the weight of boots imprinting any obvious tracks. 

Once she approaches the infirmary, she can pick up on the sound of approaching foot steps from inside and presses herself against the side of the tent. Laila holds her breath, clicking the safety off her weapon and waits for them to come out. A shadow displays in front of where she is hiding and knows someone is making their way around to her corner. 

Before he can spot her, a splatter of dark crimson stains the sand and Laila flinches once the bullet whizzes past her. She looks up to find Farah nodding at her to which she sends an unsure nod back as a thank you. 

With the insides of her elbows tucked underneath the soldier's armpits and her hands interlocked, she begins to drag him around to the back of the infirmary tent. 

Returning to where the soldier was killed, Laila kicks at the red sand to scatter the evidence until it looked like the blood was never there in the first place. 

Edging closer to the entrance, she knows there's several people inside the tent and takes a deep breath to calm her nerves. 'Like Hadir said, you've done this a million times over.' However, that small risk of having to face multiple armed people on her own still made her apprehensive. 

"Multiple Russians inside. Possibly patients, too," Laila quietly communicates to her comrades. 

"Good luck." 

Briefly closing her eyes, she holsters her gun and replaces it with the switchblade in her pocket. It was slower than a gun, but quietness would be her best friend in this case.

The young woman makes sure to crouch as she pushes a flap back to enter. 

Laila is immediately met with rows of medical beds in her sights. Some are empty and only three are occupied which works more in her favor than a busy infirmary where she'd have to worry about people constantly rushing in and out. As she carefully tip toes towards one, she watches a group of soldiers huddled a few ways ahead smoking cigarettes and speaking loudly in their mother tongue. They are laughing now and she assumes the conversation is lighthearted. 

Laila can sniff out the overwhelming scent of antiseptics and metal- probably the stainless steel. It would be nice if she could get her hands on some of those, too. 

Right when she notices a head turn her way, she smoothly slides right underneath an unused bed and tries to remain as still as possible. Her only view was that of another bunker next to her and the back of a, presumably, wounded soldier laying on it. 

By the soft rising and falling of his body, Laila knows he's asleep and knows he must remain asleep. She'd have to be extra careful now. 

Taking a leap of faith, Laila crawls out and makes sure she's light on her feet on the sand. She uses the slumbering man as cover and peaks over at the Russians still enthralled in their discussion. 

The young woman takes a cautious look around to find what she's looking for and low and behold are first aid boxes stacked on top of one another. The only issue is that they are placed on the nightstand next the man she is currently hiding behind. Laila mentally curses as she realizes the only way to get to the supplies is to reach over him. It takes her a minute to prepare herself and she takes another deep breath. Here goes nothing. 

Laila straightens up enough to reach over and enough to where only her top half is in view from the Russians' angle.

"Laila. Eyes on multiple hostiles outside. Threat level has gotten higher." 

'Shit.' If she were to get caught, all hell would break loose and then some. 

A sudden groan emits from a patient behind the soldiers and Laila is thankful for the temporary distraction, though she slightly feels sympathetic due to his discomfort. They all turn towards the whimpering man, making an attempt to investigate the source of his pain. 

Laila hunches over the bed to grab the kits once she realizes all their attention is on the patient. One after another, she stuffs the supplies into her bag and stops herself from laughing with joy. 

Her concentration is focused all on the standing men, Laila almost doesn't catch the slight movement under her arm of the man's eyes fluttering open when she attempts to snag the last box. 

There is panic and fear written on both of their faces for obvious different reasons and Laila quickly cups her hand over his mouth before he can let out a loud gasp. She doesn't even stop to hesitate as her knife runs along his throat and she's immediately horrified by the blood leaking out of the incision. 

The white sheets are now soaking up the red liquid like a sponge and Laila feels the bile rising in her throat as her brain starts to register what she had just done. 

She leaves the tent in so much distress that the last box slips her mind completely and all she can think about is getting the bloody hell out of here. The infirmary suddenly appears to be closing in on her and she finds herself feeling a violent suffocation. Her hands itch to grab on to the noose tightly wrapped around her throat, only to find it is just her red bandana that's gone a tad loose. 

Laila stumbles out, but quickly manages to throw herself behind a Russian military base sign as a group of soldiers approach. She understands now is not the time to be reckless, but the young woman could practically hear her heart thudding against its bony shields. Her palms go clammy and she almost fumbles with the heavy bag in her grip, tears threatening to trickle down from her eyes. 

Once the coast is clear, she practically runs up the sand dune to regroup with the Liberation Forces and they greet her with proud grins and a few claps to her shoulders. However, all she can see is that man's dilated pupils and the precise wound she made across his throat. She murdered him in cold blood and he was staring at her while she'd done it.

"Well done, sister." Farah praises. 

The youngest Karim extends her arm towards the bag and Laila doesn't hesitate to hand it off to her. She can barely carry herself in this state. 

No one seems to notice the disturbance written on her face or the solemness practically oozing from her. They are in a war zone, but her head feels like an even bigger one right now. Laila would probably break out into tears had they questioned her behavior, so a part of her is thankful for their obliviousness. 

She trails behind the freedom fighters as they make their way back to base, celebrating amongst themselves on their successful supply run. The others share what they managed to snag from the Russian's tents and Laila can only seem to hear static. 

The sun begins to set and she tries to concentrate on the sky's orange and crimson beauty as a distraction, but even that reminds her too much of the carnage she spilled. 

Laila's senses slowly flow back into her after her initial shock and her hands feel uncomfortably sticky. She dares a glance down and instantly wishes she hadn't. 

That whole journey back, Laila hung her head in shame and stared at her palms covered in blood- she could no longer bear to look at that sun set. 

Back at the base, the young woman scrubbed at her fingers under the rusting faucet and kept washing until her palms felt sore and raw. Had she gone a bit longer, perhaps she could've gotten deep enough to see the white of her bones if it weren't for one of the Liberation women pulling her away. But even then, no matter how vigorous she was, Laila could still see that man's scarlet blood smeared across her hands and the stickiness was insufferable. 

Laila Ahmed buried that stained switchblade the next morning.


	4. iv

2019 (Present Day). London

'Don't go down there. Don't go down there, Laila. Don't you bloody do it.'

"Help! Please! My arm..." 

Laila stops in her tracks, briefly closes her eyes and clenches her fists. She whips around to go back in the direction of the subway behind her. 

The man's whimpers becomes closer as she speeds down the stairs, the metallic scent of blood hitting her nostrils. Laila spots him on the cold ground, a hand clutching onto his left arm for dear life and he seems to exhale in relief at the sight of her red scarf tied to her neck. 'He must think I'm a doctor.'

The young woman did not hesitate dropping on her knees next to him and she starts to remove the messenger bag off her shoulder. She scans him quickly and gives him a warm smile to reassure him. 

"Brilliant! You applied pressure to your wound." The bloke is heaving- most likely out of shock. 

"Westwood- nice." She compliments his now soiled suit and makes work of snipping off the sleeve to access his arm. The woman clicks her tongue at the damage in front of her. As gently as she can, Laila turns his arm over to find another hole- the exit wound. That is a good sign. 

The medic begins to soothe him by running her fingers through his hair and he seems confused at first by the gesture. He doesn't know what to make of the young woman. She is smiling and her calming aura could almost make you forget what had just transpired in Piccadilly. 

"Try and relax, sir. I'm afraid you'll wear yourself out and I need you awake." 

He nods his head and tries to take deep breaths in and out as she unscrews her water bottle. She communicates she's going to run the liquid over his gunshot wound and tells him everything is going to be okay like a mantra. 

The way she says it feels like everything will actually be okay. 

Normally paramedics were frantic and demanding of answers based on how you were feeling, but this one is oddly different. She does not pester him about the pain level or how long he's been bleeding out for. The woman works quickly and confidently, every now and then smoothing his hair away from his face whenever he winces. 

"Do you have any children, sir?" She questions gently as she unpacks the IFAK pouch. He tells her he does. "Lovely. How old is your little one?" 

"Milly, my daughter, she turns 8 next week. I was out shopping for a gift before this bloody happened." He grits out as she cleans his injury. Laila wants to steer the conversation away from what happened and attempts to put his mind back on his daughter. 

"Well, happy birthday to Milly. Anything catch your eye?" He nods. 

"She loves those plushy animals. I found one of a cat that looks like our Ted." He begins to smile at the thought.

So she spends the next few minutes asking him questions about his personal life and she discovers his name is Alexander and that he works as an accountant. He is so immersed in answering her casual questions, it feels like only seconds have passed when she informs him his bullet wound is clean and that she's applied a tourniquet. 

The bewilderment shows on his face at how quick and reassuring she was during the process, completely blown away by her ability to work under pressure. 

"Where did you go for study? You're bloody brilliant!" Alexander compliments as she looks away flustered. 

"I just had an amazing mentor is all..." She replies, mentally thanking her father. 

"Is your ambulance on their way?" 

Her lips part at the realization she has been distracted and Laila fights the urge to smack herself for getting so carried away. She was not here for the civilians. 

"Ah well, yes. About that-" 

"Adams!" A booming voice interrupts at the steps. 

A rush of paramedics carrying a gurney flood down the stairs towards the man she was helping. The relaxed atmosphere is shattered and the reality of what is going on sets in. Laila sends a tight lipped smile at the man being tended to as a goodbye. Before he can thank her, she goes to address her superior. 

"Ms. Adams, I gave you specific instructions to check with SAS, have I not?" 

"Yes, sir. But-" 

"No buts Adams. This is the second time in your short time with us that you've gotten off track. See to it that you speak with them...you're lucky I haven't sacked you." 

Before she can respond with another 'yes, sir' , her superior begins to walk back up the stairs. The paramedics run up past her while she stands looking at the steps, unsure of herself. 

Laila cannot understand why there were so many bloody pointless rules to all this. Why couldn't she just help people without any confusion in doing so? What was she supposed to do? Let a man with a 7 year old daughter named Milly bleed out a week before her birthday? 

The sudden yelling above the train station snaps her out of her daze and she shakes off the burdening thoughts. 

Get a grip, Laila. 

Trying her best to disregard the covered bodies and the suffering pleas for help, Laila picks up her pace towards the first officer she sees. She makes sure not to look away from the man or else she'd break and try to help every unattended civilian in her sights. 

"Pardon me, sir." She grabs the RAMC badge on her trench to identify her affiliation. "Can you direct me to where I might be able to find SAS?" 

Up close she can see that the officer has a gnarly gash on his face. It looks as though it came from flying debris after a detonation and he unluckily did a piss job at dodging it. Her fingers twitch and she stops herself from reaching over to brush over the wound. 

"I assume you wanted to have a chat with the Captain. He should be with Sergeant Garrick right now." He points to their general direction behind her and she can make out two men in a seemingly intense discussion. 

"Thank you very much." Laila hesitates to leave without advising him and turns back around to face the officer. 

“I suggest a nice antibiotic soap to clean that. Alcohol and peroxide tend to slow down the healing process." 

The man stares after the medic who didn't wait around for a response with a puzzling look on his face. ‘What an odd lass.’

Sergeant Garrick and the SAS Captain have their backs facing away from Laila as she stands awkwardly waiting for acknowledgment. She would hate to be rude and interrupt. 

"They sent us in half assed, so everyone can just keep pretending we're not at war." Garrick grits out. 

Clasping her hands together in front of her, she takes a few steps back to give the men some space. She is not in any particular rush- if anything she feels rather nervous and doesn't really mind waiting. She could honestly wait for days. 

"Yeah, lie of the fuckin' century, that is." 

"Then why have we got our hands tied?" The question sounds exasperated and Laila can feel for the young Sergeant. "Let's just take the bloody gloves off and fight...Sir..." 

Laila flinches at the statement and although the rules are tight around her neck as well, she isn't fond of the fighting. It is what set her apart from Farah and Hadir. Perhaps that's why she eventually accepted her new life as Lily Adams with open arms. Perhaps it's why she thought of herself as a coward. 

The frustration is evident on the man's face as he looks back at the Captain, still not noticing the medic's presence behind them. 

"Go on." The other man reassures him. The tone of his voice sounds comforting and Garrick seems grateful for the permission to continue. 

"We don't stand a chance in hell with these rules of engagement, Captain. They can tell us where. They can tell us when...don't tell us how." 

Laila looks on sympathetically, because she knows the feeling of helplessness all too well. Wars have the tendency to do that to you. 

"My men were tracking that cell for weeks," He reveals. 

The medic quietly gasps at the information and realizes all of this could've been prevented. She dares to walk closer to the pair, stopping a little ways behind the captain. Little Milly could've gotten that plushy cat, after all. 

The movement catches Garrick's attention and before he can acknowledge her, Price has his attention again.

"You had actionable intel on this?" 

"Quite a bit, sir." 

The conversation feels private and Laila gets the urge to leave and come back at a better time. However, she doesn't want to face the wrath of her boss and chooses to quietly stand idle. 

"Okay Garrick. You're with me." 

She takes that as her cue to speak with the Captain, mentally preparing to introduce herself. She clutches the bandana around her neck out of habit and offers a small smile at the Captain. He does not reciprocate. 

"Excuse me, Captain...sir. I'm Lily Adams I was sent-" 

Just then a cellphone begins to vibrate and Price dips his head towards the two of them. He answers the call, and much to her dismay, walks right past her without so much of a word. 

Laila blinks in confusion as to what just happened. Garrick is also equally confused, but not surprised. He knows how cold the people in this line of work are and whatever the young woman wanted to speak about can wait. Phone calls to the SAS Captain are not necessarily known for being just ordinary business calls. 

"Sergeant Kyle Garrick. Pleasure." 

He extends his hand towards her. The embarrassment on her face turns to gratefulness and she gently shakes his hand. Her grip is firm, but nothing that indicated she was experienced like him. 

She catches his eyes look briefly at the red tied to her neck and registers that her mother wasn't exaggerating when she said the scarf caught everyone's attention. 

"It was my mother's." Laila gently informs him, to which the Sergeant stops shaking their hands. He is thrown off guard at the random statement. 

"Oh, sorry...the scarf- it was my mum's." She awkwardly beams. 

He slowly retracts his hand from hers, nodding his head when he understands what she is referring to. ‘Strange bird.’

"You had business with SAS? Maybe I could help." 

Garrick seems a lot more open than the Captain and for that, she appreciates the sergeant. The only kindness she really got in London was that of Thomas Adams' and his family- the sergeant who offered a place of refuge. 

"Although I greatly appreciate your kindness Sergeant Garrick, I'm afraid I must speak with the Captain directly." Laila peers at her boss now glaring at her in the distance and the man follows her line of vision. Oh, how he felt for the young woman. 

"Gotta love the bosses..." He sarcastically comments. 

They both go quiet at the thought of the hellish demands that made their jobs even more difficult than need be. 

The sound of the captain's heavy boots coming their way catches the pair's attention . Price has seemingly finished that important phone call and looks at Laila expectedly. 

"You wanted to talk." 

It is not so much of a question than it was of a statement. He vaguely reminded her of Farah and the way they both had the tendency to cut to the chase. She hesitantly glances at Kyle Garrick for a bit of help, but sadly, he seems to have other plans. 

"It was nice meeting you, Adams." He looks at Price. "Captain." 

And with that, the kind sergeant takes his leave and leaves her alone with the older man. He is very intimidating and Laila has minor difficulty approaching intimidating people. 

"Well?" His face is firm, but she can hear the thinning patience creep in his voice. 

"Yes...Right. I'm Lily Adams. I was told to speak with a Captain Price by the British Medical Association-" she once again shows the RAMC badge, but he does not make any move to actually look. "I was informed SAS has orders to extract people of high value for interrogation." 

"They'd be correct in their information. Don't see how that concerns the BMA or any of their medics." 

Laila slightly pauses at the slight rudeness, but maintains her composure. She understands he doesn't need the help, because he is the help to this ordeal after all. However, she is not too happy with her involvement either and didn't see the fairness of him being brisk with her. 

"Well I understand the confusion, sir. But, I was also informed those valuable people are to be captured alive and in stable condition for interrogation." 

Before Price can open his mouth to argue over her presence in his missions, she beats him to it and takes a step forward. She ignores his hand now slightly hovering over his gun in his holster. Her voice goes hush and she takes a calm look around to ensure no one is eavesdropping. 

"I work for Commander Karim. My name is Laila Ahmed. I'm with the Liberation." 

She had originally wanted to reveal her true affiliations in a more private setting, but she was not expecting for him to be this stubborn.

"I see. The Liberation's got their own spies now, yeah?" He is smug. 

"A spy? No...well, I guess it just depends how you look at it. Officially, not really." She struggles to explain things a bit more clearer.

"Look, Farah and Hadir knew Al-Qatala were up to no good in London and by the looks of things, their intel wasn't off. I was the only one willing to come here." They would never leave Urzikstan. Laila decides it's better to leave out that none of the British medics wanted this job, either. Who in their right mind wanted to provide medical care to a bunch of terrorists? 

She knows he understands everything by the way he is carefully studying her face. He takes a deep inhale and also takes the time to casually examine their surroundings. 

"Two days. We meet in Camden Town." 

The intensity of the color red has a lot of psychology behind it. That was what Laila learned in a textbook about the human mind and found it curious how each color seemed to evoke a reaction. 

It is basic psychology. Red is a warm color and has the tendency to garner attention- it's why everyone she met took a quick subconscious glance at the scarf she wore. It was why her mother, Zainab, grabbed all her student's attention in the mundane classrooms during her anatomy lectures.

And as she studies the back of the captain's head, she realizes the man had not looked at her red scarf. 

Not even once. 

-

"Salam," Laila fiddles with the radio in her apartment and tries to get in contact with the Liberation back in Urzikstan. "Can anyone hear me? It's Ahmed." 

Her few months back in London made her a tad rusty with her Arabic. Working for the Royal Army Medical Corps certainly didn't give her room to use the language, but she supposes her bilingual tongue was what gave her the upper hand in being chosen to provide medical support for the SAS teams. Sure, Laila might've fabricated interning at a Urzikstani hospital to boost her resume, but it wasn't like she could write her name down and add 'worked for resistance fighters' right next to it. 

Laila sighs when she's only met with static on the other end. She can only hope that the silence did not mean her comrades were in danger.


	5. v

Laila felt unsure of everything when Price had sent her a rather vague email about the SAS team's plans in North London. It was fairly obvious some intel was purposefully blacked out for her and that only furthered her anxiousness. The young medic knew a fresh faced girl tagging along on big boy operations isn't something the team were warming up to, but not providing the full picture came off rather extreme.

Laila just couldn't figure out if it was her or the liberation that Captain Price did not trust.

She does not realize she is staring at the sergeant and Price until they are glancing her way. She can feel her face heating up in humiliation and she tries to focus back on her irritated boss, registering he's been talking to her the entire time.

"Adams, have you even been listening to a word I've been saying?" The balding man grills into her. Laila goes to fix the situation, but once again, gets interrupted. "Don't bother. At least try paying attention to the captain, will you? Don't make me regret this, Adams."

"I won't, sir," Laila promises. "You know you can count on me, I won't let you down." The man sighs at this.

"You better not."

"Clock's ticking, let's move out!" One of the SAS soldiers yell out. The Alpha 1 team begins to load up on to the military vehicle immediately and Laila knows she must wrap things up quickly. She curtsies her head to her boss and reassures him that she'll do her best once more for the sake of his peace of mind. She finally begins to make her way towards the line up of vehicles.

Sergeant Garrick meets her halfway and sends Laila a nod in greeting, to which she musters a smile in return. "Nice to see you again. Nervous?"

"I'd be lying if I said no. This is your first job with Price, too right ?"

"Yeah, but I reckon we'll be just fine," he comforts. "I hear you worked overseas. Is that so, Ahmed?"

Even though there isn't hostility in Kyle's question, Laila couldn't help, but feel cornered. The captain must've told his team about her and it felt odd knowing she would no longer be Lily Adams from here on out. It might've not been a big deal, but she feels guilty that she had technically lied to the sergeant. She is not entirely sure how deep Price's information went in regards to her purpose here.

"Yeah," she confirms hesitantly. "Look Garrick, I'm really sorry-"

"Sorry?" He lightly chuckles. "Mate, I'm not going to hold it over your head if that's what you're afraid of. I will say, Laila Ahmed has a rather nicer ring to it."

"Oh." She feels slightly taken aback and figures there really wasn't anything to be sorry for. "That's- that's actually quite a relief. Thank you."

They both turn to see the Captain calling out for them. "Sergeant! Doc! Quit the chatter and let's head out, you're wasting time."

Garrick gestures to the vehicle. "Looks like that's our cue. Good luck out there, Ahmed." He jogs to where Price is waiting, Laila following suit.

-

The ride to their location has been quiet so far, aside from the sounds of the SAS team prepping their suppressed weapons. Laila sort of admired how efficient and smoothly each men fell into their given roles, seemingly with their own mental checklists that's probably been run a thousand times over. They were much more organized than the resourceful Liberation Force back in Urzikstan. Perhaps that is why the medic feels out of place wedged between two men she'd never met. Neither of them guided her on what to do. She couldn't hold it against them though- these were professionals, not guerilla fighters.

"Here. Put this on," a voice cuts in from across the vehicle. Laila looks up to find a bullet proof vest and night vision goggles in the extended hands of Sergeant Garrick. 

'Thank the heavens for this man.'

She gives him a grateful look and puts them on, the questions beginning to fly in her head. What exactly were they doing in Camden Town that they had to be this heavily equipped? Laila finds herself conflicted as to whether or not she'd be able to inquire without stepping on some toes.

"Excuse me, captain," the young woman pipes up. No one spares a glance her way. Not even the man she is addressing.

Price is unknowingly waiting for her to continue and she feels the embarrassment kicking in when he responds, "Out with it, Ahmed. We haven't got much time until we arrive."

He begins to stand up, slightly hunched over as he makes his way to the back of the vehicle. Everyone seems to take this as their cue to prepare their exit and Laila quickly attempts to find the right words.

"With all due respect, sir. I was never exactly told what we're supposed to be doing here." She figures that wasn't a good way to put it when she feels questioning looks burning into the side of her face. The captain is still focusing on everything, but her.

"Ahmed, just follow us and keep that head clear," he is firm as he advises her. It's like he could tell what kind of person she is with just a quick glance (he was not given the captain's title for the hell of it) and whatever it is he thought of her probably wasn't the greatest. "Provide medical support for SAS teams and any non-combatants caught in the cross fire when necessary." 

This is his way of testing the waters and seeing what the 'new guy' is really made of. She was on the job for high-value extractions. Not for...whatever this is. Al-Theeb would never be caught dead in the countries he despises. She backtracks. 'Non-combatants?'

"Civilians?" Laila asks, slightly horrified. What did they have anything to do with this? This is London, not a war zone.

"Yes, non combats." The car comes to a stop, Price slightly heaving forward with his feet planted to the ground. "Need those ears checked out, doc?"

"No, sir."

"Good." Him and Garrick drop down onto the concrete. "Targets are up, boys. Let's kick this off."

Laila is the last one to exit and 'I'm not a doctor' dies in her throat.

Everything begins to become clearer to her as she studies the seemingly quiet neighborhood. It is fairly obvious now that the captain wanted to see if she could fill in the blanks on her own- slowly, but surely she is.

Each of these soldiers had proven their worthiness for their positions, after all. Laila hadn't. Price wants to be completely sure if she is fit enough for this. 

The men aim their weapons on the windows of the surrounding buildings and her eyes skirt around to watch for any suspicious movements with her new team. 

These are townhouse complexes- Laila's lips parting as she tilts her head upwards towards the roofs, realizing these houses could be flooding with AQ fighters right at this very moment. One warning shot and this whole neighborhood could turn into a bloody battlefield. 

Not only had Al-Qatala formed bases in Urzikstan, but in London, too? She decides to keep a tight grip on the handle of her gun just incase, making a mental note to relay this information to Farah. 

The clinking of the gate's chains being cut breaks the dead silence. The sergeant has managed to provide them access through the entrance with his bolt cutters. They pile in single file, Laila watching their every move and mimicking. 

"Bravo 6, moving on the rear garden." 

She adjusts her headpiece, shuffling through the fence and unholstering her only firearm. It amazes her just how many suppressed weapons western militias have in their inventory. "Bravo 6, this is Alpha 2. About to enter the west alley." 

Looking in the said direction, surely enough, Laila sees more uniformed men joining them and she figures this is another SAS team. 

This all greatly contrasts from the flashy brashness of Barkov's army during their house raids- how can she forget. 

Sergeant Garrick sets up his ladder and she refrains from telling him to be careful. She doesn't wish to embarrass herself even more than she already has and she can only hope that the kind man isn't hurt on his first mission with SAS- Laila genuinely hopes none of these men will be. 

"Bravo 6 moving interior."

Everything about this feels peculiar- ironic, even. Who's to say no children will be inside? How much better would she be than the men who had barged in her own home? 

As though Price has been hearing her thoughts, half way inside the building he tosses a brief look at her over his shoulder. 

"Keep that head clear, doc. We need you sharp." 

"Of course, sir," she responds quietly. The captain and a couple of his men begin their discreet entrance up the narrow staircase. Laila watches them keenly, even studying where they place most of their weight on their feet. With such heavy boots, they manage to walk so softly. A soldier in front of her turns around to face her and he garners her attention away from the shoes.

"Wait at the staircases until we clear each floor. Captain's orders," he whispers. "Your call sign, Miss?" 

"Um, I beg your pardon?" 

He stares at her for a moment, shoulders relaxing. "Your call sign. Your code name." 

'Oh.'

"I haven't got one, I'm afraid," she responds sheepishly. The man peers down to her exposed neck. His face is partially covered, but the eyes are seemingly grinning.

"How's Red sound?" He asks thoughtfully. 

"Red?" 

He makes a gesture towards his own collar with a gloved finger. "The bandana. You can come up with a better one later on." 

Laila can feel the hint of a smile growing on her face. 

"2-2" Price's harsh voice rings in the headset. "Stop the chitchat! Doc, get your arse up here, now." 

Despite the scolding, she can't help watching in awe at how quickly Alpha 2-2 makes the switch from casual to serious in the blink of an eye. He doesn't seem to take Price's words personally and is visibly unmoved. 

That in itself is very telling of the SAS teams as a whole and she finds herself hoping to gain that type of discipline during her time with them. The young woman is just unsure of what it might cost her. 

"Red proceeding up the stairs," Laila speaks over the mic. Despite the situation, a part of her feels proud of the fact she has her own code name now. It isn't much, but it is still progress and that is enough for her. 

"Copy." 

Just as ordered, Laila remains still at the top of the stairs, ears awaiting an 'okay' and eyes peeled for potential surprises. As her side presses into the wall, she catches movement at the kitchen window and the only thing not obscured by the barrier is the sight of Garrick climbing into the apartment. The two make eye contact and subtly nod their heads in acknowledgment of the other. Laila overhears steps from her position and muffled conversations from, presumably, another room. 

"I'll get the kettle on-" a gasp flies from a woman's voice and a body slamming on to a hard surface immediately follows.

"Quiet!" 

The medic flinches at the noise and mentally notes that she is going to have to check for bruising on the woman whenever she gets the chance. 

She assumes that a door has been left opened, because the previous muffled conversation is a crystal clear one now. Laila had been feeling so discomfited towards this job, but once the AQ members bring up The Wolf and their future plans, she remembers why she's here. 

"...well, now they do. Al-Qatala is a household fucking name. We need to coordinate with the other groups. Paris, Moscow, Munich..." 

Her eyes widen in shock and the young woman grips on to her red scarf. 'Other groups? There are others?' 

Perhaps the Liberation has been undermining just how large scale Al-Qatala really is. All this time, every party involved has seen them as a group of terrorists- it's a viral ideology. The fact they were able to discreetly sneak their way into so many cities is mind boggling. 

Garrick is probably just as alarmed by the revelation, because the discussion ends with a man gurgling on his own blood. There's cursing and she hears two more bodies hit the ground. 

"Red," the sergeant announces. "Clear to move up." 

She takes a small breath before she replies, "Copy." 

Laila enters the kitchen and her eyes directly fly to the motionless person restrained on the cold floor. The women isn't thrashing because she isn't afraid. She is in shock.

The medic can't help seeing Barkov's men above the prone civilian and she tries to get the image out of her head. She avoids looking at the soldier as she stoops down to help the woman sit up in a more comfortable position. Her 'patient' is clearly upset by the whole ordeal, because she flinches as Laila brushes a loose strand behind her ear. 

"Salam, what is your name?" The medic asks in Arabic, hoping it would make her relax knowing Laila is one of her own. 

But, much to her bewilderment, the woman is only confused. 

"W-what?" The civilian asks. "I don't- I don't understand."

'She doesn't speak Arabic?' 

"Sorry, it's nothing." Laila brushes off in a gentle voice. "What's your name?" 

"Jess," the woman breathes out. "Are you going to hurt me?" 

"Jess..." Laila blinks at the very much western name. 

As the young woman asks whether or not she feels any aches on her body, she notes that this person's features are very much Urzikstani. Dark hair, olive skin- and it hits her all at once. 

'She is just like me...hundreds of children sent to the UK as refugees. These are some of the children that went through the program. Jessica. Lily. what else could it be?' 

Al-Qatala never "snuck" in. The program was never limited to just London. Laila gnaws at her lip, applying a cooling cream to the woman's sore shoulder. The 'noncombat' let's out a sigh of relief at the slight alleviation of pain. 'This could've been me.'

"Thank you," Jess whispers. 

Their eyes meet and Laila feels frozen in time as she stares at her. She wonders if this girl had seen the same things she had. Been to a camp. Walked miles for water. Watched people starve to death. Who did she see get taken? Get killed? She must've been younger than her if she didn't remember her first language or maybe drastically traumatized. 

Ahmed dares a glance over Jess's shoulder towards the door and there's no body in sight, but she can make out blood splatter on the walls. She gulps. 

"Just doing my job." 

"Still," the woman responds after some silence. "I just don't feel like I deserve it." 

Jess wants to look next door and stops midway, but Laila knows better than to blame the hurt shoulder for that. Her arm is not broken, though it seems the woman definitely is as her breath hitches and her eyes gloss over as she realizes who had died. Laila doesn't know if it's appropriate for her to console her, but she does so anyway. These are --were -the only people she had. 

"You don't have to look back." She means it in more ways than just one. 

"I don't know why you're here and I don't think you do, either," Laila starts. "Just...don't look when they escort you out of this building."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Jess asks, almost angrily. "You people could've killed me, too. I'm here, aren't I? They could shoot me and tell the press I was an AQ fighter, just like those three." 

"You're right...they could've." Laila presses softly and she hesitates to continue. "But that's not what they wanted to do. Are you saying that's, perhaps, something you wanted Jess?" 

The woman stops crying, her eyes fluttering shut and the medic feels a pang shoot through her heart as she watches her shrivel. Laila tries to reach over and place a hand over hers, but she's startled by the voice over her headset. 

"First floor secure. Multiple hostiles KIA, no medical needed." 

She reluctantly gets up from the floor and tells Jess she must leave. The woman doesn't say anything in return and merely stares at the kitchen's tiles in a daze. Poor thing is still in shock and the medic can't blame her, wishing she had a shock blanket to throw over her. 

"Red proceeding to the third staircase. Waiting on standby." 

Laila catches up before anyone notices she has fallen behind and tries to clear her head from everything she's learned. There is too much to unpack here on such an intense and pressuring mission. Thinking about Jess further would only complicate her feelings even more than they already have been.

She tiptoes to regroup with the Alpha Team and it is incredibly darker up here. Laila decides to place the night vision goggles over her eyes and tries not to get intimidated by the (unfortunate) fact there is a perfect view for when SAS clears these rooms. It is too quiet up here. 

"Outside the door!" 

And just like that, the silence turns to havoc. Laila ducks down and let's out a squeal, flinching away from the flying bits of wood as a hostile begins spraying bullets. She slightly lifts her head enough to see a man go down and she's on her feet just as fast while Price throws orders around to get the room clear. "3-1, get up here now!" 

Laila runs up the last few steps of stairs behind 3-1 and gets closer to the Alpha soldier groaning in pain. However, before she can reach him, a firm tug to her arm reinstates the distance. She whips around because of the abrupt and bruising grip only to find Price peering down at her sternly. 

"Don't be fucking reckless," he firmly advises. 

It's a short, slightly rude, instruction. But she quickly reads between the lines when turning back around to the sound of Sergeant Garrick kicking the door open (or whatever was left of it). The captain's hand is still clenched around her upper arm and she figures this is his way of saying he didn't trust her to quote on quote "clear her head." Laila can't really hold it against him when her conscious is egging her to fight against his grip to get near Alpha 3-2. 

They wait in the hall for the thuds of bodies and surely enough, Garrick reappears at the doorway. Price sends a silent look to 3-3 and he immediately begins dragging his fallen comrade. Laila is enamored by the SAS's ability to communicate with one another soundlessly. They knew what their next move is supposed to be at all times, never needing to audibly give a command. It all falls seamlessly together. 

"Hang in there mate, I got you." 

Ahmed looks over to the captain and he gestures his head towards the end of the hall to say the area is safe enough to provide medical now. "Red will look after him." With that, the rest of them are ready to proceed onto the next floor. 

Laila takes a seat on the ground next to where the man is laying, a whimper finally falling from his mouth. He is extremely tense and she frowns. 

"You're only going to hurt yourself even more if you hold back," she consoles gently. "It's okay to show that you're in pain, it's causing unnecessary tension to your body." 

"I can take it," 3-2 responds between clenched teeth. 

"I never said you couldn't." Her tone is only lightly teasing. She unpacks her bag, quickly putting on latex gloves. "Can you show me where you were hit?" 

Laila knows she's fully capable of looking herself, but she wants to give him a sense of control in the situation. He'll point to where it hurts and she'll work from there. The wounded Alpha points to his leg and then his shoulder, the medic thanking him for his cooperation. 

"I'm going to cut your pants, is that alright?" 

"Do what you have- fuckin' hell!" He slams the back of his head onto the wall out of pain. Maybe if he would listen and allow himself to let out a cry here and there, the wounds would not be trying to rip open even more than they already are. 

"Everything is going to be okay," she reassures, inspecting his now partially exposed leg. Blood has stained all over his skin and it's hard to find where exactly he's been hit. "What's your name?" 

The man opens his eyes in puzzlement, probably wondering how that is relevant to any of this. "Derhachov. Corporal." 

She hums as she wipes away at the mess, trying not to alarm him when she finds what she's been searching for. "That's a rather interesting name. I like it." 

Laila subtly glances to the man's uniform beginning to stain the upper arm area and goes to address Alpha 3-3. "Do me a favor and apply pressure to his shoulder while I fix his leg. He's bleeding quite a bit." 

"On it, Red." 

"You're doing great, Derhachov," Ahmed soothes when she feels him tense under her hand. The wound in his leg is not deep enough for a direct hit. Fortunately, this is just a graze. "Looks like the bloke who shot you did a piss job. Good news is your leg is merely grazed." 

"You hear that, mate? You're going to be fine." Laila looks at 3-3's gloves and sees that they too are becoming stained with the man's blood. This is not good. She takes a heavy swallow and doesn't bring any attention to it, quickly cleaning his injury. 

"And your name?" The medic asks the other soldier. She's trying to pick away bits of fabric in the wound and figures this is a good distraction. 

"Private Smith," he answers, looking up from his comrade. "I hear this is your first day." 

"Oh," she glances at Derhachov to ensure this isn't alarming to him, but he doesn't seem bothered. "Yes, it is- with SAS I mean. My experience is mostly overseas." 

"So we've heard," the injured man manages to let out in between groans. She smiles at him comfortingly and alternates asking them questions about their services and where've they been previously stationed. Laila is able to capture them in a light hearted conversation and it eventually goes towards football- which she leaves for the two men to talk about amongst themselves. 

After she's sure all foreign materials have been extracted from the laceration, she gently, but also swiftly, puts in some stitches. Derhachov winces here and there, but his comrade diverts his awareness of the sudden sharp pinches successfully. Within several minutes, she clasps her hands together. 

"And you're all patched up!" She congratulates as she dresses the wound. Getting up, Laila steps around to sit next to Smith and cuts away at the man's uniform. She's worried by the amount of blood that he's been losing from here. 

There's a glint of something inside the hole in his shoulder which, much to her displeasure, means there's still a bullet wedged in there. It must've hit a vein for it to be causing this much blood loss and she knows removing it here is not the best move. When he's sent to a hospital, they can safely remove it with all the tools in the world. Here, Laila is limited. 

"Bad news is, you've got a bullet in there," Laila shines a light on his injury, inspecting what she will be able to do temporarily. "It isn't something I can't fix, though. You'll be up and out of here to see a proper doctor in no time." 

She instructs Private Smith to get more dressing from her bag as she cleans the surrounding trauma with an antiseptic wipe. Blood is still gradually pouring out, but Laila knows with a tight gauze, it should slow it down enough for him to survive. When she's done, the two men give her appreciative looks and Smith let's out a small laugh. 

"For a new guy, you know what you're doing," he compliments as his friend catches his breath. Laila hands the wounded man a couple of painkillers to get him to relax now. Her cheeks slightly heat up.

"Thanks," she mutters quietly. "Don't think I would have been given the job if I didn't. Corporal, you'll live, but you're going to need surgery for that shoulder. I'll call it in, just be sure to listen to whatever the doctor tells you to do." 

"Yes, m'am," he grins. "Thank you...really." 

Laila only sends a smile and packs her things up without another word. She begins to walk up the next set of stairs, picking up her pace when a baby's wailing grows louder. Suddenly, Price's previous words replay in her memory of earlier. ‘Don't be fucking reckless.' 

So she comes to a hesitant stop at the last step, studying the opened door. "Am I clear to proceed, Captain?” 

“You’re clear,” Price responds after a few moments. “Last floor. Take point, Sergeant.” 

Taking off her goggles, the room is dimly lit by the crib in the corner of the room and she grimaces when seeing the cowering woman with a newborn in her arms. Laila takes tentative steps forward past 3-1 to get to the mother and child, hands held opened to show she means no harm. 

“Please...don’t,” she cries. Laila looks towards the next room and spots blood puddling from underneath the bed. Her grimace only deepens when putting two and two together. 

“I’m not a soldier,” Laila reassures. Technically, she isn’t one so it wasn’t a lie. Her face softens completely when she glances down at the baby tightly wrapped in a blanket. “I’m a medic.” 

The mother still hadn’t relaxed, partly due to the fact her husband had been shot in the next room while her child is screaming- most likely due to the noise. Laila gently steers the woman to another side of the room where the mess in the bedroom is obscured from her position and she rubs her thumb soothingly into her tense shoulders. “Hey, stay with me here. Everything is alright.” 

Ahmed doesn’t ask her about her husband’s involvement with Al-Qatala or why she is here. She doesn’t need to ask questions she already knows the answers to and mentally curses the dead man for bringing his family here. An idea pops into her head and quietly starts to check the drawers. She can feel 3-1 staring at her. 

“The sergeant and Bravo 6 have found some intel upstairs, we may have to wrap things up,” he whispers to her as she sifts through a box on the table. She hums. 

“I’ll be sure to finish as soon as possible.” Laila finds the pacifier. “I can take it from here if you want to regroup with the lot downstairs. Don’t want you to get in any trouble because of me.” 

“Are you sure?” He takes a hesitant glance to the mother. 

“Positive.” 

“You’ve got a minute. Don’t be late.” 

She nods her head in confirmation and walks back to the family of two. Ahmed stares at the woman, tears running down her face as she rocks the child in her arms. The young medic lifts up her hand to show her the pacifier she had found. 

“May,” Laila stops to rethink this over. She looks to the baby. “May I?”

“I...” the mother seems conflicted, holding tightly onto the bundle in arms. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Not after-"

Laila smiles sadly and as much as the implication that she had anything to do with this hurt, it would only hurt this woman more to hear someone say this was, in a way, her husband’s doing. “You don’t have to explain yourself, I understand. I hope you know that you and your child are in good hands.” 

“Doc,” Captain Price walks through the doorway with Sergeant Garrick without so much sparing a glance at the civilians. She flinches at the abrupt interruption. “Downstairs. We’re waiting on you.”


	6. please read

Hi! 

If you’re reading this it means you’ve read the chapters and if you’re revisiting this story it is because you thought my fanfic was worthy enough of your support (-,: (thank you thank you for that and I appreciate you) 

I had an intro put up w an author’s note but I thought I would make this instead. I just wanted to talk about why I decided to write this and overall as a thank you for everyone who has visited this. 

I enjoyed reading everyone’s fanfics and realized this fandom realllyy needs more writers. I’ve held on to this story for months now and I’m a bit shy about writing/ reading stuff like this but I eventually stopped fighting the urge to post it. Originally I wasn’t going to and everyday I get the thought to take this down, but then I remember the unintentional stereotypes people have upheld in their stories and I’m not mad at fan fictions written based on video games or the video games themselves. This is actually why I have appreciated and loved Modern Warfare 2019 as much as I did bc it wasn’t the same redundant take on the Middle East/ arab people. I just thought this would not only fun to write and further my appreciation, but also because it would be nice to educate/ introduce people to a culture not many people know about in a cool way! 

I’m not a professional and I’m not that good at writing. Sometimes I mix future tense and past tense and sometimes I misspell and maybe my plots are clear in my head but not in my chapters 

SO , please please please feel free to comment productive criticism. I will take it all and I will keep them in mind and apply them to my writing so you can enjoy as a reader. 

My uploads will be random! At this point I have not written these following chapters. As I’ve said before, I’ve held on to this story for a long long time so I’ve spent time revising them / adding to them. My classes have already started, too so I will try my best to upload often. 

Again thank you for giving this fic a chance even if you might not have liked it so far. Thank you for reading (-:


	7. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter isn’t all that great. Classes have been overwhelming already )-,: hope y’all are safe <3

The medic finds herself stuck in time when she observes the civilians being led out of the townhouse- some weeping and some stoic. They are most likely being removed to be taken in for a series of interrogations. The building wound up being a hive for Al-Qatala and those living here must have some sort of insight on the group to provide. 

When a soldier walks out the door with a firm grip on Jess, her eyes remain glued on the pair out of worry. She can hear the woman pleading that he ease his hold and she impulsively opens her mouth to intervene, but the Captain must've been watching from afar. 

"Doc," Price cuts in from over Ahmed's shoulder, Garrick trailing after him. "I see you made it out in one piece." 

Laila's glance flickers to Jess's head being ducked into the car and she hesitantly faces the two men. Price is unexpectedly visibly troubled. 

"Yes, I suppose so." 

The Captain gives the sergeant a certain look that Laila only guesses meant he wished to speak with her alone. She can't help, but feel uneasy now. Is he cross with her already? Was she unprofessional with the civilians? 

"Ahmed." Garrick nods. "I'll see you soon. Good work in there." 

"Thanks," she whispers. "To you, too Sergeant."

Laila clears her throat awkwardly as Price merely continues to study her sullenly. The silence becomes unbearable and she fiddles with the ends of her scarf out of habit, hoping he'd stop looking at her like that. 

"Captain?" He doesn't answer her at first and briefly grabs the crook of her elbow to steer her away from the SAS teams huddled at the gate. 

"I expect honesty from all my men." They are still walking down the alley and he slows their pace once the two are far enough. "Each one of these blokes have sacrificed plenty just to be here. Known and fought alongside some of 'em for years. There are rules in this line of work for a reason. These soldiers are required to memorize all of those rules- believe me when I tell you there's bloody plenty of 'em." 

Laila knows all too well where this is headed. 

"You, on the other hand, I don't really know how you managed to snag a spot with us. Quite frankly, I don't really care." He doesn't sound angry and he is not screaming. However, there is something accusatory in that tone that isn't sitting well with the young woman. Price stops abruptly and she mimics him as he turns to face her, the frown from earlier reappearing. 

"Red!" 

They both turn to Private Smith, the man who had helped her put pressure on Derhachov's shoulder earlier. His face falls once he's realized they are in a serious discussion and sincerely apologizes to Price. 

"I just wanted to say thank you before I go." Laila realizes the private is addressing her and she tilts her head out of confusion. 

"For what you did back there," he clarifies. "Derhachov was hit pretty bad. I was sure the bugger that hit 'em was the end for the guy, but you managed to save his life. Thanks, Red." 

"Oh yes," Laila stammers. "No need. I was just doing my job, really." 

Smith bids the two farewell as he jogs to the vehicle his team had originally traveled here in. Price attempts to reel the conversation back to where it was before the interruption and a wave of dread floods her. He must want to sack her and she braces herself for the blow that's going to come as he opens his mouth. 

"I want that honesty now." He stares at her intently and slightly dips his head forward. "Can I trust you?" 

"Wait, I'm sorry- Trust me?" She repeats carefully. Trust her with what exactly? He had basically told her he didn't trust her...only for him to ask her if he could? "Pardon me, I'm not sure I entirely follow. I think we aren't on the same page, sir..." 

"Ahmed, I'm asking if I can trust you," Price places a strange emphasis on the word trust and it rings in her head, mentally nudging her. "You're going to be working closely with us for a bit of time, aren't you? Trust is very...very important when you want to get a job done."

Laila studies the ground as she tries to decipher what he means. It is very odd of Price, someone who seems to be an extremely direct person, to play around with words in that manner. She sifts through her thoughts to conjure up any clues on what the captain is possibly trying to tell her. Her lips part and her eyes widen as she studies the man when she reaches a conclusion. He didn't really mean...? 

Can I trust you to keep your mouth shut. 

"I saw the way you looked at those lot in there," his voice goes quieter, a smug look on his face. "You heard the private- I saw you risk your head just to get to that bloke. Your emotions are too wrapped up in this mission. Do you still reckon you can save 'em with a fucking rule book? Not a chance." 

The young woman raises her chin when she fully comprehends the situation. Although he reminded her of Farah, he vaguely sounds like Hadir right now.

"I see." 

"And? What's your verdict? Can I trust you, Ahmed?" 

Laila thinks it over again in her head, a little clueless on what the hell she signed up for. No one else wanted to work this job- not in London and not in Urzikstan. She thought of the Karim siblings, her comrades, and for a brief second, she thought of her parents. Laila decides she isn't going to turn her back on Urzikstan- not again. 

"There's no shame in backing out from all this."

"No backing out. You can trust me, Captain." He studies her, presumably to see whether or not she is completely serious about this. 

"Good. Expect an email tonight." 

-

"You haven't been picking up any of my calls. Kind of surprised when I saw your name on the screen." 

Laila hums, sprawled out on her sofa with one arm brushing the hardwood floor and the other presses the phone up to her ear. She never made phone calls. From time to time, she had the urge to flush it down a toilet because of how utterly useless it is for her to own one. The liberation could not risk ringing her and there isn't a person in this country who wanted to keep in touch- of course, aside from the one person who had begged she keep the mobile in the first place. 

Thomas Adams. 

"When you ring someone back in the middle of the night you're the one who needs to do most of the chatting bit, don't you agree?" He chuckles and she winces at the slight bitterness. "Why are you up so late anyways, lass?" 

Laila frowns, not exactly sure where to start. It's all very overwhelming and underwhelming all at once and she wishes he'd just sit here in silence with her. She remains quiet, anxiously gnawing at her lip and gently swings her slumped arm back and forth. 

"Lily?" Thomas's voice sounds alarmed now and she can hear him sit up. The bastard must be in bed with his wife with the speaker phone on. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?" 

"My name is Laila," she whispers, not entirely sure where that came from or why she can feel hot tears rolling down her face. 

He sighs tiredly. "Is that what this is all about? Look, if you want we can go fill out some paperwork whenever you get the day off and change-"

"No, that's not what this is all about Thomas!" 

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm herself down. The sound of shoes hitting the floor makes her regret even calling him and she knows the uncharacteristic snarl made him feel like it was time for a visit. 

"Look, I'm sorry," Laila huffs defeatedly. "I know I haven't spoken to you in a while-"

"Try weeks, lass." The man cuts in. "We've been worried sick about you. I thought helping you get this job would be good for you. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I feel like you're cracking under pressure, Lil —Laila. I knew I shouldn't have let you go back to Urzikstan. When you asked me to take you to Commander Karim, I thought it was a way to help you move on from your past. To heal. Now you're getting all sucked into the the very thing I was trying to take you away from." 

"They are my people," she pauses. "It was never about healing." 

"Is the Liberation threatening you in staying? I can-"

"No!" Laila bursts out. "No, it's not that Thomas, please listen to me." 

"I can't read your mind, girl," he gently reminds her. "You have to tell me. You called me for a reason, Laila. Tell me what's happened."

The young woman gnaws at her bottom lip again, slowly sitting up and staring out the window of her living room at nothing in particular. It's dark outside and she feels guilty for waking him up. 

Laila glances at the laptop she had shut and thrown once she had received that email from Price. It was about the intel they had discovered in the townhouse. Her eyes had skimmed through the information (none of it blacked out like last time) and her heart had sunk when she came across Al-Theeb's location. 

"They took my father's hospital," Laila breathlessly says after some time. It is silent on the other end.

"Are you sure it's his?" Thomas tentatively questions. 

"Ramaza Hospital." She takes a shaky breath. "A twisted coincidence, I reckon." 

"Perhaps this isn't some coincidence." The man seems to be thinking over what he's about to say. "I don't think it's the best idea for you to go back to Urzikstan." 

"This is bigger than me! It is bigger than just my family, Thomas. They've given all of us a bad name and they've managed to tarnish the only thing I have left of my father." 

"I don't know, Laila. I really think you should put an end to this right here. There comes a point where you can only do so much." The words slap her in the face. "You know you're always welcome back here. Emily misses you terribly." 

She grips onto the cellphone in her hand and she can't help the roll of her eyes. It is almost as though he had somehow heard her ask for his blessings. 

His wife Emily is a kind woman and apart of Laila (perhaps it was Lily) misses her as well. Then she remembers all the times she insisted she call her mummy when she was younger and Laila cringes at the thought. 

"No." Although he can't see her, she shakes her head. "I'm going to be there when they extract Sulaman. I have to be or else there is no moving on for me-"

"Most of the time, folks choose the therapy route." The cheekiness crawls under her skin. He was always trying to find humor in everything to lighten the situation up, but this time it rubs her the wrong way. "It's how we deal with our traumas. We don't go back to the very thing that's hurt us. I'm worried- we are all worried about you, girl." 

"Why don't you and Emily worry about your own daughter?" It's too late for her to back down, though the regret is already creeping into her head. "Do you have got even the slightest clue where she is right now? A pub?"

"Lily-"

"My name is Laila," she bites out. "You got your chance to clear your own guilty conscious when you dragged me to this bloody country. Now let me clear mine. I'm not the child you saw in that camp anymore, Thomas..."

"My apologies for rudely waking you. Give Emily my regards." 

She hears him go to say something, but before Thomas can, the young woman hangs up immediately. Laila stands up and raises her arm like she is going to throw the phone like she had wanted, but her arms fall limply by her side and decides not to. 

Laila didn't even recognize the sound of her own voice and she already feels remorseful for insulting the Adams family like that. He didn't deserve it. She had never yelled at or disrespected Thomas before- not since their initial meeting back in Urzikstan when he asked if her mum could speak English. He is probably hurt and confused right about now and she is aware that is all her doing. Laila wouldn't hold it against them if they never wanted to speak with her again. She wonders if Mrs. Adams had heard all of that. 

Laila wipes the stray tears from earlier roughly with her sleeve. She feels like a rotten brat. 

All she had wanted was to talk of her father's hospital- tell someone of her good memories in there. Helping her father with patients. Skipping through the halls and waving at the elders. Sitting on top of her father's desk, legs swinging back and forth as he went to go get hot chocolate for them. Playing games with the staff who she practically called a second family. Laila was afraid that Thomas, too, saw Urzikstan as a breeding ground for terrorists. She just wanted to tell him it wasn't, even if he hadn't inquired or even believed so. She didn't know why she found it necessary to remind him. 

"I'm so stupid," she mutters to herself bitterly. "What a fine job you did, Laila. Absolutely brilliant." 

She was so sure about going back to Urzikstan, but now the doubts are swallowing her whole.


	8. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, hope you all are doing well. I’ve realized that around 50 people have visited this fanfic, which is pretty cool so thank you for reading !! Enjoy the rest of your day/ night

She didn't really get much sleep that night. Several hours after her very sour phone call with Thomas, Laila had hailed a taxi to get to the base. They were off to Urzikstan before the sunrise. Talk about proper timing. 

Laila wonders if it is too late to change her mind and quote on quote back out of the job. Was there really no shame in that? Would she be doing the right thing for herself and for those near and dear to her heart? She wondered if she should call Thomas and apologize for being so horrid, but the fear of being rejected devoured her. Stupidly, the young woman thought it best to turn the mobile off and leave it behind in her apartment. 

"Destination?" The driver makes eye contact with her tiredly in the rear view mirror. She quietly informs him and he raises a brow, most likely not very fond of western militants.

The car begins to move and all Laila can do during the awkward silence is stare out of the rolled up window. 

A few hours in that same position, it gets boring and she fidgets in the backseat restlessly. Laila eventually settles with admiring the tassels adorning the roof of his car. The decor- as the British would say- gave an 'oriental' touch. He didn't have an English accent, but she can tell he's been living here for quite some time by the mannerisms. 

"I don't mean to be invasive," Laila attempts to make conversation. "Where are you from?" 

The man tenses and his eyes flicker to the woman in the rear view for a brief second again. "I'm from here." 

She goes quiet and she can tell she has offended him. The temptation to smack herself grows when she realizes he must not think she's from outside of the country and that she’s probably judging him. Days like this, she finds herself wishing her Urzikstani accent was still there. The taxi driver has probably had cruel passengers with a lot of hatred in their hearts- his hostility is understandable. 

"Lovely. I'm not from the UK," she says lightly. They stop at a red light. "I'm from a country called Urzikstan." 

"Your parents?" The p in parents sounds like a b and she knows he speaks Arabic. 

"Yes, they're Urzikstani, but so am I. I was born there, but I-" What is the appropriate word? Immigrated? Refuged? The traffic light turns green. "Moved to London when I was a child." 

"Are you sure?" Laila stops herself from laughing at the question. It seems ridiculous. "You don't have an accent." 

The car comes to a slow stop and she can make out the base in the distance from behind the barriers. He would not be able to drive inside, meaning she would have to walk the rest of the way. She doesn't mind. 

"We all have an accent," she responds with a soft smile and hands him several pounds. "Keep the rest, amo. Thank you."

Before he can thank her or maybe continue his questions, Laila steps out of the taxi and wraps her trench coat around her frame tighter. October was always quite nippy. It takes a moment for the car to drive away and only then does she decide to start moving her legs. 

The conflicting thoughts of continuing with the mission or quitting rushes back and she knows she has to make that decision before meeting with the team. So engulfed by her thoughts, she doesn't even notice the person now walking next to her. 

"Mind if I join you?" 

Laila peers at the right side of her and finds Sergeant Garrick's friendly face. She wonders if she should let him in on her little dilemma. Perhaps he'd help her see clarity in the situation. 

"No, not at all. I think I'd rather enjoy the company," she answers. He turns his head to study the silk scarf around her neck. 

"I hear you've got your call sign, already," Garrick points out with a light hearted chuckle. "Seems like you've got me beat." The medic scrunches her face at that. 

"How on earth do I have a code name before you? Everyone probably thinks I'm rubbish at all this." 

"I say you're too hard on yourself, Red," He cheekily puts an emphasis on the nickname. "The blokes on the team think you're brilliant so far. And when I get mine, I'll see to it that you're the first to know." 

"I'll hold you to that," Laila grins, but slowly becomes more serious. "About that. I was actually thinking of-"

"Wait...I know that look," The sergeant cuts in. "You're thinking of calling it quits aren't you?" 

"I hoped it wasn’t obvious,” the woman responds hesitantly. "I just- I don't know, really. It’s scary to admit, but I feel lost at the moment.” 

The man rests a comforting hand on her shoulder and Laila appreciates the friendly gesture. Friendliness seems to be a rarity nowadays. 

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Laila.” He stares intently at her, making sure she understands where’s he is coming from. “But I will say I’ve been there. Fuckin’ hell, at times I’m still there. You were there for Piccadilly, you saw what I couldn’t stop-”

“That’s not your fault, Kyle-”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Garrick’s face looks solemn now. “Missions like that, I question myself. Why I do this job...But if not us, then who will?” 

But if not us, then who will...

Laila thinks of Kyle Garrick. Not only a very kind man, but a man who cares deeply about innocent civilians just as much as she did. He dedicated his whole livelihood for counter-terrorism to keep his home safe. 

It makes her think of Farah Karim. A fearless woman who had tasted death’s bitter rind and equipped her horrible experiences in war to lead just as fearless soldiers. The commander would stay up on the rooftops with a cigarette in hand. Anyone would think it was to keep watch, but Laila knew deep down inside that she wanted to be there for her comrades who had troubling nights. 

Of course, where would she be without her brother, Hadir. A talented sniper who is the embodiment of what it means to be a brilliant freedom fighter. Oh, how the bloke put an emphasis on the fighter. Laila had always told him how she wanted to mirror his strength. 

And then she thinks of Captain Price. Technically, he is her new boss and apart of her knows she should tread carefully with higher ups. However, there is something more to Price than just a higher ranking. Even Sergeant Garrick knew that. The bags under his eyes told the terrors of war, but the man screams resilience. Although he kept his eyes set on his missions, Laila could tell he, too, cares for the civilians. 

If not us, then who? 

The medic traces back to her childhood, remembering some of the western soldiers who poked jokes at the children- playing games with their food and bribing them with sweets to say ridiculous phrases in English as though the kids were their circus animals. She thinks of Omar Sulaman and the men in the camp who snuck around recruiting angry, vengeful citizens to form what they know now as Al-Qatala. The Russian military that took children as POWS and left them orphans. Are these the only people who the world is relying on? 

Laila shakes her head subtly, studying the sergeant in front of her. They’ve stopped at the entrance and she knows this is where she gives her answer. 

“It’s a pleasure to be working alongside you, Kyle Garrick.” 

-

They had left around six-o clock in the morning and arrive at their destination during nightfall. Laila is unsure of the exact time now, but even if she had a wrist watch, the knowledge of being in Urzikstan again is a distraction in it of itself. She is too busy staring below in awe at the poppy fields. This feels like home. 

It is home. 

“Didn’t think you were coming to be completely honest, doc.” 

She glances over at the captain as he stands next to her, peering down below, as well. Laila wants to tell him she didn’t either, but thinks it best to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t need to encourage his doubts further. 

“And why is that?” 

He doesn’t respond with his words- instead, he chuckles. Laila can’t tell if he’s coming from a judgmental or lighthearted place, but she doesn’t bother fighting the subtle grin on her face either way. 

“Never mind, silly question.” 

Before he can respond, they both look back outside when shouting erupts in the distance and Laila can feel every hair on her body stand. It is fairly dark outside, but she can make out the mob from miles away- a rather large mob at that. The young woman takes a heavy breath, having never imagined that the city of Sakhra would ever look like this. 

“Garrick, get your arse over here now,” Price calmly orders over the headphones and Garrick is instantly by their side. The sergeant presses his headpiece further into his ear in order to hear over this noise. 

“Copy, 3-1. Bravo's on station. Reposition and prep for evac,” Garrick responds. Everything is beginning to pick up so quickly. 

“30 seconds,” the pilot informs. 

Laila gasps as she hears chanting, but they’re too far up for her to make out what exactly they’re saying. She assumes it has something to do with Sulaman and she already begins to feel antsy for what awaits them. 

“Roger, 30 seconds.” The captain sends a look that practically screams ‘get it together’ before he roughly opens the door of the helicopter. 

“There's a large group of unknowns moving on the front gate.” 

Once the pilot gives them this piece of information, all three of them huddle closely to look on as the mob gets louder. Laila can hear them now- Give us Al- Theeb. 

“Al-Qatala is down there.” How lovely. 

They all tense as they witness the crowd force their way into the US Embassy. This is not good at all and Laila’s eyes widen, gripping her pistol tighter. 

“They've breached the perimeter.” 

“Put us on the roof,” Price directs the pilot and Garrick pats Laila’s shoulder encouragingly as she struggles to look away from the chaos. 

“We have to reach Echo fast. They've got a lot of hell headed their way,” Price informs the two. She realizes Echo must be the American she’s heard bits about here and there. 

The three flinch when the sounds of bullets hitting metal begin to ensue and Laila cannot believe what is happening. Those bastards are shooting at the plane and the dangerous reality of the situation comes into light. Maybe she should’ve backed out, after all. 

“Taking small arms fire!” 

Price eyes suddenly widen and he shouts, “RPG!” 

Instinctually, Laila ducks when she hears the warning, but she has never experienced anything quite like this. The Liberation did not have military choppers and here she is about to crash inside one. The shock of it all causes her to freeze up and she can’t even hear the boom of the rocket making contact with the helicopter. All she is aware of is the sensation of her body being flung across the floor upon impact and Price’s urgent shouts at Kyle to kick the ropes out. 

It isn’t until a harsh tug to her collar and someone’s arm circling tightly around her neck that Laila wakes up from her brief daze of panic. All of a sudden, she’s no longer on the ground of a chopper- she is in free fall. 

“Muppet!” Price bellows in her ear. Now she knows who is practically choking her with their elbow. “I fuckin’ told you to jump!” 

Before she can say ‘sorry sir’ , Laila lets out a painful grunt when they land on the roof’s hard surface. He had let go of her before his own tumble and she wasn’t given time to brace for the landing. The friction of her cheek skidding on the ground burns and she winces as she lifts her head. Laila, a deer caught in the headlights, is just in time to see a propeller flying their way. She doesn’t know which one of them does it, but once again, the side of her face is slammed into the roof. 

As their heads are ducked down, a massive explosion ensues- most likely their ride to the embassy. She can only hope the pilot had jumped out in time. 

“You broken?” Price grunts to the two of them. Laila tests out her arms as she sits up and the captain rolls his eyes when she shakes her head. 

“I’m good,” Garrick responds. 

“Echo 3-1, primary extraction failed. We're down on the roof.”

Laila feels something underneath her hand and picks up a hat, realizing it is the Captain’s. 

“This is yours, sir,” the medic extends her arm to give the boonie back to the man. He airs the dust out and places it back home atop his head, not even bothering to help the two up as he walks away. 

The medic and the sergeant exchange a look at that, Laila carefully getting up on her feet and offering a hand for Garrick to take. 

“You alright, Kyle?” 

The man accepts the help, clasping their hands together and slightly puts his weight on her to get up. “I’m alright.” 

She still does a brief inspection of him anyway and he reaffirms that he is in pristine condition given the circumstances. The two catch up with the Captain at the nearest door and he nods at them. Now or never. 

Price begins to walk down the stairs at a brisk pace, followed by Garrick, and then Laila closely behind. 

“We have to reach the saferoom before Al-Qatala does.” 

“And the embassy personnel?” Garrick questions. Oh dear, she had completely forgotten about the civilians who work here. 

“Al-Qatala's here for the Wolf. So are we.” Price slightly turns over his shoulder. “Hear that, doc?” 

“Yessir,” Laila mutters, knowing she would have to be disciplined during this very important mission. In and out- no civilians. 

They make their way into the personnel floor, workers frantically running all over the bloody place. Papers flying everywhere, rolling chairs being shoved out of the way, and frenzied phone calls occur at once. Laila’s head snaps in every direction, already making sure no one is hurt. 

“C’mon, mate,” Garrick quietly murmurs, gently grabbing her arm for a second to get her to focus. 

The three of them start jogging through the office, knowing everything is extremely time-sensitive from here on out. It won’t be long until Al-Qatala gains access into the building, as well. 

A worker spots Price, a look of relief on his face once he notices their affiliation. 

“Good, you're here. They need five minutes to finish up? What can I do to help?” The man asks. Price doesn’t even stop to address him, much less look at him. 

“Find weapons. Barricade the doors,” he simply advises. The manager seems to have stopped at the insinuation that they weren’t going to be helped. 

“But you’re the extraction team!” Laila can’t help looking behind at him when she hears the subtle fear in his shout. 

“Not yours,” Price brushes off. He could’ve been a bit nicer with the poor lad. 

“Sorry,” Laila quietly sends back at the man, Garrick telling her to hush under his breath. They stop at another door, most likely an exit to the personnel floor. This time they need a keycard. 

“You!” Price grabs a staff member’s attention. “Open this door.” 

Without questioning, the man gives them what they need to get through. 

“Lock it behind us.” 

And with that, Price and Garrick run down the stairs. Laila turns around to the worker. 

“Good luck.” 

“Thanks...You too.” 

She hears the door lock once she catches up with the two men and they run faster than they had entering the building. As they pass a window, a car explosion happens abruptly and Laila flinches at the sight. Even the Captain seems to stop in his steps, but quickly recovers and continues descending the flight of stairs. Kyle and Laila, however, watch on for a few seconds in horror. 

There’s absolute carnage going on outside and the two of them seem to stop at each window, their horror morphing into anger and even helplessness. They were only here for one thing and one thing only, but it didn’t stop them from wishing they could do something. 

“0-6, Echo 3-1. Wolf is secured in the basement saferoom. Be advised, the Butcher is outside- yellow shirt.”

Just as the American had said it, the three are met with the sight of AQ trying to break through the entrance to the embassy. A man wearing a yellow top stands out amongst the crowd like a sore thumb and Laila feels her blood boil. This is the Butcher. 

“I have eyes on him. They're breaking through now. We need a new extraction point, fast.” On cue, the terrorists do, unfortunately, break through. Laila clicks the safety off her gun, her eyes never leaving the Al-Qatala members. 

“Bastards,” Laila whispers mournfully. 

Suddenly the door opens, a woman wearing a hijab bursts through. She is clearly panicking at the whole situation and Laila cannot blame her. “Oh my god!” 

They run past the civilian freaking out and enter the office hurriedly. The extraction team needed to get to Al-Theeb before the Butcher and his men do, or else this would have been all for nothing. 

Through the bulletproof glass, the terrorists entering the embassy immediately begin shooting everyone in their path. Laila dreadfully watches a Marine get a bullet to the head, his body hitting the floor instantly.

“Shit! We need to engage these guys, sir!” Kyle must’ve been watching the cruelty, too. 

“Negative.” Laila already knew his answer before he even said it. “They get to this side of the glass, they’ll reach the Wolf before we do.” 

The sergeant and medic can’t peel their eyes away from the disturbing sight of innocent people bleeding out on the floor. 

“We clear?” The captain catches their attention, reminding them how important it is to be disciplined during this mission. 

“Yes, sir.” And Laila quietly nods her head. He seems to be content with that. 

“Good.” Price stops at the next door and looks at Kyle. “Take point.” 

They follow behind the sergeant closely and when she didn’t think everything would get much worse, it clearly is. A woman is trying to get the door open and an American soldier is restraining her from doing so. 

“Daiyaan! Zahir!” Her family must be on the other side. 

Laila’s gun falls to her side, no longer aiming at the AQ fighters behind the glass. She didn’t want to see this poor woman lose her family right before her eyes. This is the very thing that got to her the most when it comes to war- the very thing that made her go back to Urzikstan. Before she can take another step forward, a hand circles around the crook of her elbow and she’s pulled back. 

“Don’t,” Price warns lowly. “We can’t do anything.” 

Laila doesn’t look at him when he leaves her to figure out which employee has a keycard on them. She’s frozen in time as the Butcher throws the husband and son onto their knees. 

“Everyone back!” The captain shouts, to which everyone has no choice but to follow. No one is allowed to open those doors. 

“We only want the Wolf,” The Butcher tries to persuade. 

The little exchange the leader attempts to make wakes Laila up and she runs over to assist the Marine restraining the civilian. 

“No...no!” The woman screams. “That’s my family! He has my family!” 

She gets down on her knees to console the sobbing woman as best as she can, but the woman doesn’t hear a word she’s saying. Laila cannot blame her. 

“No one else has to die today.” The man looks like a predator hungry for his next meal. The medic so desperately wants to kill him for putting this poor woman through this. No one should’ve died today. 

“Who has a keycard?” 

Laila wraps an arm around her, trying her best to hold her back from unintentionally endangering everyone. He would kill them all no matter the outcome. She can’t peel her eyes away from the father and son, but no tears well up in her eyes. She’s seen this one too many times that there is only fury. 

“Please...my family,” the woman cries into the crook of her neck. The medic can feel her tears soaking her shirt and she grips tighter onto the woman. 

“I know.” Laila grits her teeth and doesn’t dare blink when her husband is shot in the head. “I’m sorry.” 

“Zahir!” 

The little boy behind the glass sobs when he sees his father bleeding out. He shakes the dead man hoping he will wake up and Laila’s throat tightens. 

“Baba! Baba!” 

The woman breaks free from her arms and makes another attempt to get to the door, but the Marine beats her to it. He pushes her back down and tries to get her to stop. Even Garrick’s feet is planted, wondering if this man is cruel enough to kill an innocent child like this. 

“That’s my son! Don’t let him do this!” The woman wails. 

“Kyle! We’re moving!” Price orders, but no one seems to be listening. 

“Laila!” The captain tries to get the two to focus, but neither listen. 

Everyone stops to watch on in dismay as the boy breaks free to run away from the dangerous men and the Butcher aims his gun at the boy. Time freezes and Laila gets up as the shot is made- she didn’t wish to hear the woman’s agony at witnessing her little boy be killed in front of his mother’s eyes. The guilt crawls up into Laila’s head, wishing there is a time machine she can use to save that child. 

“Mercy is weak.” 

Garrick, however, is still staring through the window as the terrorists begin to shoot at the glass. He visibly is infuriated and just that look alone could’ve killed the Butcher right then and there. 

“Let’s go,” Laila whispers sadly. She slowly wraps her own hand around his comfortingly as they hear the woman cry for her deceased loved ones. When Kyle is ready to push forward, she gently drops his hand and they exchange a look. The Butcher will pay for this. 

Although Price stands at the now opened door seemingly unfazed, Laila knows better than to think what transpired did not anger him. 

“Hey, we'll get him. Count on it.” The captain continues their way to the basement. A truck filled with Al-Qatala forces passes by them from outside and Price tenses. “3-1, enemy vehicle is inbound. What's the status of extraction?” 

The sergeant and medic’s eyes trail the car as it drives around the perimeter, still furious from earlier. 

“Building's locked down. No way out, Captain,” 3-1 informs. Laila wishes there is a ‘no way in’ added to that, but she knows better. 

The three reach another office filled with frantic civilians, Marines attempting to calm them down. The embassy staff are yelling and running all over the place, but they can’t entirely blame them for being upset. 

“We're working on getting everyone out. For now, just sit tight and stay calm!” 

Laila walks further into the office, inspecting the civilians for any injuries. “Is everyone alright?” 

“What’s it look like, lady?” An American man questions bitterly. “We’re about to be gunned down by a bunch of goddamn terrorists and you all aren’t out there trying to stop it!” 

“Yeah!” A woman adds in. “The embassy is supposed to be fortified! This could’ve been avoided!” 

“You all are right to be afraid, but-”

All of a sudden, the whole office shakes violently as a truck crashes through the building and glass shards fly everywhere. Laila is thrown off her feet by the impact and figures it’s better to be on the floor than standing. She doesn’t know where Price or Garrick are, but she knows she has to pay attention to what’s going on before regrouping. 

“Duck!” Laila orders the civilians. Some listen to her and crawl their way to safety, but others continue running. They are shot in cold blood. 

Quickly snatching her gun that she had dropped during the crash, she crawls inside a cubicle for cover. Mentally preparing herself for the shootout, she hears approaching footsteps of Al-Qatala fighters attempting to push forward. 

Laila peaks from the desk and aims her gun at the hostiles, yelling for the civilians to get out of the crossfire. Her fingers wrap around the trigger and without hesitation, she presses. A bullet hits one and she extends her arm to the right, shooting another one down. 

A terrorist realizes where she is when she takes two of his men down and his bullet whizzes past her, taking a corner of the desk with it. Her breath hitches and she kneels back into the safety of the cubicle. Only when he runs over to her desk does she aim right at his face and goes for the headshot. His blood splatters all over the office floor, his body falling with a thump. 

Too caught up with what’s in front of her, Laila doesn’t realize Price is standing right in front of her until she looks up to find his gun aimed on her. 

She is confused by the hostile gesture, letting out a gasp when he fires his weapon, but she is confused when she doesn’t feel the blow. Another thump and Laila opens one eye to find a body right next to her, realizing an Al-Qatala fighter was behind her the entire time. 

“On your feet!” Price orders her and she quickly recovers, carefully stepping over the dead bodies now littering the destroyed office. 

“Move up!” Garrick and Laila catch their breaths from the sudden action, picking up the pace. 

“3-1, AQ's breached! They're inside and headed your way!” Price radios in. 

“Roger that.” 

AQ must’ve slipped into the building during the exchange of bullets in the office and they’re now demanding to know where their leader is. A lady is thrown to the floor by her hair and a hostile aims his gun at her threateningly. 

“We want the Wolf!” He demands and the woman squeals out of fear for her life. “Where is he? Tell me now!” 

“Please,” she begs. “Don’t do this!” 

Garrick skillfully puts a bullet through the terrorist’s head before he spots them, the woman physically unscathed by the situation. She clearly did not know the whereabouts of Al-Theeb- none of the embassy staff did. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the group from targeting them.

The three make their way through the next set of cubicles, killing any of Al-Qatala’s people they came across. Laila does not hesitate to fire her pistol and uses the bulletproof glass to her advantage. It is perfect for cover and for scoping out the area all at once. Price, Garrick, and Ahmed continue to press on until they’ve managed to clear the floor. 

“Let’s get to the basement,” the captain directs once the threats have been neutralized (at least for now). “Kyle, take point.” 

The two of them trail after the sergeant, holding their weapons up to make sure no one is hiding out in the hallway. He attempts to break through the door to the basement, but it does not budge. 

“Locked,” Kyle says frustratingly. 

Price leaves Laila’s side, hurriedly taking out the crowbar peaking out from his bag and makes his way to the inaccessible door. “I’ve got it.” 

Garrick steps aside to make room and she goes to move closer, but stops in her tracks when an AQ fighter bursts through the door as Price pries it open. Before either of them can shoot the man without hitting their captain, he smoothly takes the hostile down by slamming his crowbar into his neck with a sickening crunch. Laila flinches at the disturbing noise, blood splattering the wall next to the door and watches as Price flips him onto the floor. 

“Fuck off,” the Captain grunts, not even looking back once when he continues down the stairs like nothing happened. 

The medic follows the two men, carefully stepping over the dead man and the puddle of blood now oozing out of his injury with a grimace on her face.


	9. viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is doing okay! Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who checked the story out. I logged on today to find so many hits, so it’s really cool knowing people gave this a chance! <3 stay safe out there, take care of yourselves (drink plenty h2o) and enjoy a good fanfic or two lol!

The closer she is to Al-Theeb, the louder her heart beat gets and it's practically drumming against her rib cage at this point. Laila can hear several Al-Qatala members banging and repeatedly shooting at the door to the safe room, clearly knowing where their prized leader is being held. 

"Open the door!" They shout over and over again. "The door-"

Without a second thought, Garrick dispatches them quickly and lowers his gun when the coast is clear to move up. The three of them rally together at the door, Laila whipping around to make sure no one makes an attempt to sneak up from behind them. She doesn't let her aim waver from the empty hallway, but catches the grim sight of a dead marine on the floor.

"Let 'em know we're here, Sergeant," Price orders. 

Laila can hear a click from over her shoulders and knows he's turned on the intercom. 

"3-1, we're here." It is simple, yet sufficient enough for the door to open and only then does Laila slightly let her guard down. 

Despite the hellish situation, her eyes light up at the sight of her comrades. The Liberation is practically her family and she would be lying if she had said she did not miss them dearly. The three swiftly enter the safe room, locking the door behind them.

"Farah, still fighting the good fight," The captain greets. 

"Always, Captain." 

The medic let's out a sigh of relief when she gets near Farah. If they weren't in such a dark setting where they were surrounded by professional militants, she'd embrace the woman. 

"Farah, it's good to see you," Laila breathes out. The commander grins at the young woman. 

"And you, sister," she responds and there's a glint of recognition in her eyes. "I knew I could count on you." 

"The ambassador's still inside, sir, he's trapped," a man interrupts, to which the two women turn their attentions towards the monitors. 

Laila hadn't noticed the man earlier, too enthralled by her old friend's presence that she had completely skipped over him. Is this the American who was helping her comrades? 

"Okay, keep him on the line, he might be our way out of here." Price looks at the eldest Karim "Hadir- thanks for the assist."

"Our pleasure, sir." 

The medic is also more than happy to see him, but she refuses to look at the man kneeled in front of him so she doesn't dare move in closer or shift their way. There is no one on this planet she loathed more than Al-Qatala's precious leader (of course, besides General Barkov). She'd be better off pretending the man isn't even in the same room as her. 

"Omar Sulaman," the Captain addresses. 

"Have we met?" His voice has clearly aged now, but that anger and bitterness is still there.

"Yeah back when you were on our side." The Karims exchange a confused look at this. 

"The Wolf was a freedom fighter?" Hadir questions, clearly off guard by the revelation. No one in the Liberation really knew of his early affiliations- only elders and of course, little old Laila Ahmed. A bitter taste floods her mouth and all of a sudden she's thrown back into that field, learning to fire a gun for the first time. 

"I still am brother." Sure, you rotten geezer. Sure. 

"The Butcher's men are closing on the Ambassador, Captain," Farah warns from the monitors. Laila steps in to glance over Karim's shoulder at the security cam footage and sure enough, she is correct in her warning. 

"Rog," Price acknowledges and turns to Garrick. "Kyle, man these cameras. Direct the ambassador to safety. We'll need his keycard to open the rear doors. Rest of you, on me." 

Laila feels strange splitting up from the sergeant as he's grown on her quite a bit. How could he not when he's assisted her plenty in such a short time frame? She wouldn't be here had it not been for him. 

"Hey," Laila says from the doorway before he can activate the microphone. He peers up to the woman with a slightly worried expression on her face. "Be careful." 

"I'll be fine here," Garrick reassures. "You do the same, Red."

To avoid another stern order from Price, she musters a sad smile to give Kyle and catches up with the team. She stares at the back of Hadir's head, fighting all urges to just dare a peak at Al-Theeb. Seeing Omar Sulaman on a tellie is different than seeing him in the flesh. 

"Sister," Hadir's head shifts to her slightly as she runs up next to him. "I'm glad you're here." 

Her shoulders relax when he doesn't address her by her name, not really eager to find out as to whether or not Sulaman remembers her. 

"I've missed you lot, very much," Laila confesses quietly. "London is nice, but I'm afraid it isn't Urzikstan." 

They exchange a silent look of acknowledgment and get their heads back into the mission as they cut through the parking lot to get to the other side of the building. It is still all too surreal being back in the motherland.

"Doc, push up," the Captain orders and she immediately picks up her pace until she's side by side with him. "I want you behind Commander Karim and I when we get the keycard. You can make sure the Ambassador is in one piece when we're in the right place." 

"Rog," she responds. She doesn't need to question what to do with the Wolf, because it was all in the email. The pressure is on when she realizes just how important these people are and the fact they will be under her care- both are completely different professionals in different lines of professions.

"Captain," Garrick's voice cuts in from the radio. "The ambassador is down, but I can lead his assistant to you."

"Fuckin' hell," Price curses under his breath as they run up the flight of stairs. "Do it. We need the keycard." 

"Hadir and Echo. Stay here with Sulaman." The captain turns to Farah. "The assistant is going to come through that door. I want you to lay heavy fire on AQ inside." 

"Yes, Captain." The two Karim siblings nod. Hadir digs the barrel of his gun into the temple of the Wolf threateningly and Laila still avoids studying him. 

Farah and Price take point on either side of the door- the minute the keycard swipes from inside, they will ambush the terrorists inside. Hopefully Garrick will guide the assistant to them in one piece. 

As the medic waits in baited breath for some action to happen, she eventually picks up on a presence from behind. She tentatively glances at who exactly is within close proximity to her and perks an eyebrow.

It is the man from earlier, his sleeves covered by a plethora of tattoos and a good amount of hair sitting above his top lip. She offers a tight lipped smile as it clearly isn't an appropriate time for cheery time and warm introductions. 

"You must be the American." Laila hopes that didn't come out rude. 

"Yes. Call me Alex," he responds and an awkward smile twitches underneath his stache- he probably has heard that a lot. Thankfully he is not offended by the observation, because that is all she could have gone by. She was never all that brilliant at introductions. 

"Alex, it's a pleasure." She greets quietly. "I'm Laila Ahmed." 

"It's a pleasure," Alex kindly shoots back. "I take it you're with the Captain?" 

The young woman pauses before giving an answer and figures she doesn't really know who she's with. Lily Adams is technically with- not in- the special forces on paper, but Laila Ahmed's true alliances lay with the Liberation. She turns to watch Commander Karim and Captain Price readying their weapons for their surprise attack. Perhaps she's overcomplicating the seemingly simple inquiry. 

"This one is all Farah's," Price answers on her behalf, clearly having been eavesdropping on the conversation. "Didn't get the memo? Urzikstan's got their very own CIA agent." 

"I'm not a spy, I'm a medic." 

"Two in one," he cheekily adds in.

Before Laila can come up with an equally sarcastic quip, a beep is heard from the door and everyone instantly tenses. Price and Farah lean forward to get ready to ambush once the keycard has been scanned, aiming their weapons at the entrance. 

"Get back!" Price yells at the assistant and the woman barely manages to dodge the onslaught of bullets. Laila grabs her arm as she runs out of the office and Alex guides them both behind the crew away from the line of fire. 

"Holy shit! Holy shit!" 

The commander's and the captain's guns sound off as Al-Qatala realizes they've been attacked, gunshots echoing throughout the empty staircase. The medic takes a quick, yet attentive, once over at the woman and she can practically hear her heaving. Her shortness of breath is most likely due to shock and she can only wonder what the woman has seen inside of there. 

"Are you alright, miss?" Laila questions over the barrage. 

"Y-yes." The American attempts to let out after a few gasps. "I can't believe- oh my god. I can't believe I made it out of there." 

"You're okay now," Alex cuts in to reassure her. "Just stick behind us with the doc here and we'll make sure to get you one step closer to home in no time." 

Laila refrains from correcting the CIA agent- it seems as though everyone here is referring to her as a doctor from now on. Alex leaves the two women and makes his way up a few further steps to help with taking down the leftover AQ fighters. 

"Like he said, you're going to be fine," she comforts. It is ideal at this moment to calm the frazzled lady and temporarily take her mind off of what is going on. It would do the assistant no good to be frantic or else she will act out of impulse. 

“What's your name?" 

"Stacy Davidson." 

"Laila," the medic introduces, wrapping an arm around Stacy to guide her out of Price's way as he runs past them down the stairs. Farah slams the office door shut before AQ manages to follow them and everyone in the group immediately runs after the captain. 

"Sergeant, we got her. Let's regroup in the parking lot!" He radios in. 

"Roger that, boss." Laila is relieved to hear Garrick's voice. It indicates he is alive and well.

They run through the building the same way they had entered, but this time with a bit more urgency in their steps. After their little ambush, Al-Qatala surely knows where they are holding Al-Theeb so the sooner they get out of embassy, the better off they'll be. 

"You look a little young to be in the SAS," Stacy points out randomly as they sprint towards the garage. Laila's head whips to the side to send a puzzled look at the woman, neither of their paces faltering. What is she on about? 

"That's because I'm not." 

"Um, young or in the SAS?" Stacy frowns, clearly unsure of what to make of the vague answer. However, in Laila's mind, it seems rather obvious. Price would be having a right good laugh had he heard this bit. 

She's thankful for Sergeant Garrick's sudden appearance as he meets them halfway in the parking lot. Laila is not really in the mood to converse about herself with anyone when she can sense Al-Theeb's presence nearby.

"Garrick, we're leaving!" Captain Price informs as he sends a nod to the young bloke. 

"Roger that." 

"Hadir- watch on Sulaman." The orders fly out of the captain's mouth smoothly and she wonders how quickly his thoughts must process. It's impressive- his quick thinking. 

The sergeant takes a place next to her with a brief grin on his face. "Good to see you, mate." 

"Likewise." 

"What's the plan?" Farah questions, uncertainty wavering in her voice. It is a good question. The original setup had gone to utter shit and Laila didn't recall ever hearing their Plan B- that is, if there even is one. 

"Link up with the Marines at the southern compound," Price answers. 

"Where's the compound?" Kyle asks and Laila gnaws at her bottom lip when she realizes they will have to walk out onto the streets. This is riskier than the chopper, which is most likely burning away as they speak. She wishes they had arrived in two helis so that they didn't have to flee on foot.

Laila can feel Stacy perk up next to her at the mention of the compound. 

"Not far- Through the alley across the street," the assistant offers. What an utter relief. 

"Let's get there," Alex encourages and Laila nods her head in agreement.

"Yes, let's. It'll give me a chance to assess Sulaman." 

"The bloke seems to be breathing," Price mutters under his breath, clearly not fond of Ahmed's role in all this. She's still unsure if she herself is included in his general distaste. 

The group halts at the large exit, huddling around and taking the proper positions to cover all their sectors. Laila remains near the assistant to ensure she's okay at all times. If all of them (God forbid) were to get injured, she would be required to tend to the woman and Sulaman first before anyone else.

"Alright, Garrick- open it up." 

"Here." Stacy reaches into her pocket and grabs their ticket out of here to handover to him. "Thank you, Sergeant. You saved my life." 

Laila can't hide her smirk when she catches the hint of a blush on Kyle's face. He’s most likely not accustomed to the appraisal. 

"This keycard may save all of us," he replies humbly. With that, he makes a quick swipe and the garage door is being lifted up. The crew brace themselves for whatever is coming and Laila finds herself clicking the safety off her pistol once more. 

"Ready up," Price murmurs to his team. "Expect contact." 

As the door is nearly all the way up, she can already make out a figure at the top of the slope. When she squints, she sees that they are armed. Of bloody course. 

"They're here!" Farah warns and that's when all hell breaks loose. Kyle immediately shoots the man down before they can take an aim at them, their body rolling down the hill upon impact. 

"Stay behind me!" Alex orders the two as Hadir stands a few feet away from them. Laila gladly obliges, not too fond of the idea of engaging in another gun fight. 

They wait near the garage while Farah, Kyle, and Price move further up and Laila assumes there's more Al-Qatala on the street by the sounds of the constant gunfire. Not only had they absolutely flooded the embassy, but they were also surrounding it. 

The group seem to be waiting for hours until they get an okay. 

"Echo 3-1, you're clear to move up." 

"Rog. Coming to you," Alex responds into the headpiece. The medic grips onto the woman's arm to silently communicate that they were going to make a break for it. 

They run up the hill, retracing their comrades's steps until they get closer to the alley and Laila refrains from gasping once they cross the street. The chopper they traveled in is burning on the road and her heart sinks into her stomach. She can't seem to peel her eyes away from the wreckage, the thought of the pilot meeting this gruesome fate disturbs her greatly. Had he somehow managed to survive the crash, Al-Qatala would've done him in either way. 

"Are you okay, doctor?" Stacy whispers. Laila blinks at the question, moving her attention away from the flames. 

"Don't worry about me, I'm alright, Stacy." Laila briefly squeezes her arm as though to give an unspoken thank you. "Let's just focus on getting someplace safer." 

"Agreed..."

Before another word is uttered, the voice of a child cuts into the eery silence of the alley and Laila flinches. The boy is alerting someone of their presence and the only issue is that they don't know who exactly that is. The medic catches a quiet 'shit' from under Alex's breath and assumes it is no one friendly.

"We're comprised," Echo says, a hint of annoyance in his tone.

Laila's eyes flick up at the windows of the buildings surrounding them and she is able to make out curious eyes peaking out from behind the curtains. She doesn't let it get to her and continues to urge Stacy forward until they finally make it to their destination. Garrick steps in closer to the gate's intercom and slides the keycard across the scanner.

"This is Bravo 6, SAS," and just like that, they're granted entry. They're immediately met with the sight of uniformed men at the entrance with surprised looks on their faces. 

"Didn't think you'd make it," an American soldier admits and Laila can't really blame them for that assumption. Hell, even she didn't think they'd make it. 

Price steps forward and they all follow suit. "We need a secure room to store a prisoner." 

"Yes sir," the man replies. "Secure room in the residence, follow me."

And they do. The building is brilliantly decorated and Laila studies the beautiful accents of the place while ushering Stacy where the other surviving civilians are.

“You should be safe here, miss." 

"I hope so," the assistant shakily replies, presumably still dealing with the after waves of shock. The medic guides her to take a seat in hopes of steadying the pale woman, fearful that her blood pressure is dropping from all the adrenaline burned. 

Laila perks up when she hears the sound of a heavy door slamming shut from the hallway and looks on as Hadir walks away from a sealed door. This is where they must be holding Al-Theeb. 

Once Captain Price approaches the next exit of the residence, Laila stands up from her crouched position and walks next to Garrick. She checks the ammo of her pistol to ensure she isn't running low until Price let's out a sudden huff of frustration. 

"The hell are you doing standing here?" Ahmed's head shoots up from her weapon. "You're not going out there." 

"But-"

"You aren't trained for this," Price reminds her, irritancy written all over his face. "I recall you being here for Sulaman. Nothing more."

She doesn't know how to respond to the harsh words coming from the captain's mouth and she knows that the stress of everything isn't helping the situation. Laila chews on her bottom lip and figures 'He is right, clearly I'm not trained for this line of work.' 

"Yes, sir," she whispers, afraid of her own voice sounding childish. 

The man doesn't say anything and turns around to call for air support on his radio in desperation. She feels Kyle lay a heavy hand on her shoulder out of comfort and it slips off just as quick, the sergeant following his captain outside immediately after. 

Laila doesn't know how long she's been standing there staring at nothing in particular, too busy lost in her thoughts until she feels Farah's soft eyes on her.

"I know you," Farah starts quietly. "You are strong, Laila Ahmed. He doesn't see that now, but he will."

Hadir stands next to the two women and nods his head. "You remember when you were the weak British girl asking to join us?" 

Laila softly smiles at the unpleasant memory. 

"You lot laughed at me," she recalls. 

"So let them laugh now," Farah advises. "They will see in you what we've seen first. You're a fighter. A strong one." 

With that, Farah takes her leave, Laila a bit hesitant to actually believe her words. Working with the SAS has made her feel everything, but strong. Hadir steps in closer, holding her gaze. 

"My sister is right, Laila." The eldest Karim's voice is low and it sounds a tad uncharacteristic of him. "Strong means something very different to Urzikstan than it is does for the rest of the world." 

Before she can question what he means, Hadir runs after the rest of the crew and she can't help, but wonder if Farah is actually right. Was she really a strong person? 

Was she even meant to be a fighter?

\- 

"Are you gonna show me some ID or are you gonna stand here all day?" 

Laila peels her eyes away from the metal door and shifts her focus towards the marine standing guard next to it. By the looks of his annoyed expression, she's probably been in a daze for quite some time. 

"Um," she tries to formulate a coherent sentence while fumbling with her identification card in her trench's inner pocket. "Yes, here is my ID. Lily Adams, RAMC. I'm with special services." 

The American squints as he studies the picture, his eyes flickering to her face and briefly to the red scarf tied to her neck. How predictable. 

"Seems in order." 

With that, he unlocks the safe room, beckoning her to enter quickly when she hesitates. It was risky to just leave it open like that so Laila rushes inside and the door slams shut instantly. 

She slowly turns towards the Al-Qatala leader sitting on the floor, his glassy eyes glued on the wall opposite to him. He doesn't acknowledge her presence, nor did he move a muscle at the sound of her entering. He knows she's here, but doesn't utter a word to indicate that. Laila takes the time to study him now- the changes she can physically see. The wrinkles outlining his face say aging and the faint scars say experience. Sulaman is clearly older now. Blinder. 

Without saying anything, Laila carefully kneels in front of him and takes out her stethoscope from the messenger bag. She expected to be more intimidated and sick to her stomach being this up close and personal, but somehow, she strangely doesn't feel a single thing. Not even anger. 

"Who are you?" The questions come out slow and he sounds tired. Almost defeated- almost. 

"I'm checking your vitals," she responds neutrally, not offering anything more than that. The medic doesn't know why, but a deep chuckle rumbles from Sulaman. 

Disregarding the childish reaction, she softly presses the diaphragm to his chest. His heartbeat is normal, but Laila keeps it there. The sound in her earpiece rings in her head and she's almost in disbelief knowing he actually has a heart, wanting to hear it for a moment longer. 

"I know who you are.” 

Laila's eyes gradually trail up from the bell of the stethoscope to his face. "No you don't." 

"I heard you, girl," he confesses after a beat of tense silence. "You told that American your name. Don't be stupid." 

With some thought, she concludes he's referring to Alex and when they were introducing themselves on the stairs waiting for Stacy. Al-Theeb was there the entire time and it had completely slipped from her mind at that moment. She doesn't know how to respond to that, sliding the earpiece off and staring back at the mysterious man. 

"Why did you make me shoot that gun?" The question blurts out of no where in such a quiet manner that she almost doesn’t quite catch it herself. 

"I ask myself the same question, child." The response comes out passive aggressively and she knows he intended to insult her. "I foolishly believed you would grow up to be your father-"

"Don't you dare talk about my father," she whispers angrily. Oddly, no tears are building in her eyes. Laila does not tremble or waver from the confrontation, either. 

"Your father was a fearless man," he continues, loudly speaking over her very last word. "One who raised a coward. Afraid of her own shadow. Afraid to fight for her country. You speak like them. I remember when you once spoke like us." 

Bringing up her British accent made her anger boil over, but she maintains as much calmness as she can muster. The diaphragm is still pressed over his heart, but the earpiece is wrapped around her neck. 

"I'm here aren't I?" It's a rhetorical question, so the young woman doesn't give enough space for an answer. "I proved myself and now I'm here-" 

"Making sure I'm alive," he laughs quietly. "While they fight. I have more respect for them than I do for you, child.” 

She mulls over the words and the bitter reality slaps her in the face when Laila realizes he's right. I'm here being chastised by the Wolf while my comrades risk their lives saving our motherland. He's right. And the fact he's right makes her unbearably queasy. 

"You're wrong." The words betray the thoughts in her head. "I belong out there and I'm going to make sure you don't make a single centimeter out of this bloody room." 

Laila hears him saying something, but she can't be bothered to actually listen. Quickly straightening up, she becomes someone with a purpose and hurriedly knocks on the door to communicate that she's done. 

"Is he stable?" The marine from earlier asks, but she doesn't face him as she grabs a random gun on the nearest counter. The man locks the metal door back up, perking an eyebrow at the medic’s strange demeanor. 

"Yes, he's fine." She didn't even finish a full medical assessment, but figures if his heart is beating, that's all that should matter. 

"Hey, what are you doing with that?" The soldier calls after her, however, she doesn't provide an explanation. 

Laila's never used an M4 before, but assumes a gun is a gun and grips the unfamiliar weapon tightly as she runs out of the residence building. Stacy's worried voice sounds out from over her shoulder, but this is too important to her to stop and heed the warning of danger. 

It is then that Laila realizes it wasn't guilt that pushed her to go back to Urzikstan when she saw Sulaman on the television- It was the desire to prove him wrong.


	10. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say wow at Farah as a operator !!

On one side is Hadir, her lieutenant, and Alex, a CIA agent whom she had just met an hour ago. On thé other are two friends, Farah and Kyle. However, the latter also comes with the intimidating brute that was Captain John Price. He must be a very kind man off the field, but as of right now? He is anything but. 

She makes the wise choice of joining the eldest Karim and Echo on their roof. 

It is suspiciously quiet as she climbs up the ladder on the side of the building, wondering why it is as dark as it is. When she hears glass crunching underneath her boots, the picture is painted clearer. Somehow, all of the lights set up around the perimeter has been deliberately vandalized. 

Laila quickly slides over to the east side, where Alex is crouched behind the walls outlining the roof, and the man slightly flinches at her unexpected presence. He looks over the barrier only to do a double-take, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. Laila tries to avoid his eyes and the guilt slightly sets in.

"You're not supposed to be up here," Alex points out slowly. "You're supposed to be with The Wolf." 

Before she can offer a proper excuse, Hadir peaks his head over the American's shoulder with another equally puzzled look. "Laila?" 

"What are you doing?" The lieutenant asks when he realizes she's chosen the safety of silence. "It's too dangerous here, get back inside-"

"No!" Laila cuts in defiantly, but maintains a respectful tone. "I want to fight. You and Farah were right. The both of you know me better than anyone else here. You've seen me fight...please, just let me help." 

"It's not up to us, sister." Hadir briefly looks towards the building across from their post- at the SAS Captain more specifically. 

"Hadir-"

"Hey, hey, hey, look," Alex interrupts. 

The two follow his pointer finger and they manage to hear engines humming from the distance. Laila studies Alex's and Hadir's reactions to the noise and quickly grasps that these people are not friendlies. 

"Two trucks," Alex warns in the radio, his eyes trailing after the vehicles. "Moving south, far end of the field." 

The air is tense and Laila's unforeseen appearance has long since been forgotten as they watch the trucks disappear into an unsuspecting cafe. Something isn't quite right here, but she cannot seem to place an exact finger on it. 

Just then, a man shouts in Arabic somewhere from the general area of the cafe and heavy dread settles at the bottom of her gut like an anchor. Her eyes widen out of alarment and Laila quickly scrambles to get up. 

"The fuck did he just say?" A marine inquires, clearly unaware of what is about to happen. 

"Mortar!" Laila yelps out, but it’s already too late. 

They all manage to get thrown off their feet at the direct hit made on Price's position, the impact ringing in their ears even after it's done. However, they know better than to believe that any of this is not far from over. Laila gasps as she hears another round heading their way, watching on in horror as her comrades successfully jump off the roof and miss the explosion by a hair. 

Ahmed attempts to jump down, but a hand circles around her upper arm to hold her back before she can do so.

"Stick with us," Alex strongly advises. "You're no good to us dead." 

"What can I do to help?" Laila asks determinately and she almost can't believe the glimmer of newfound respect in the agent's eyes. 

"Lay cover fire for Bravo." He hands her the M4 she had managed to drop onto the ground. "Those bastards are going to do whatever it takes to get to The Wolf." 

"That isn't going to happen," Laila gurantees. "Not tonight."

"Alex, we need flares!" Price shouts over from below. 

"On it!" And just like that, 3-1 leaves her side to shed some light. "Fire in the hole!" 

The entire field is illuminated and Laila's eyes widen at the sight of just how many hostiles are approaching their positions from the tall grass. She winces as mortar after mortar takes down their defensive walls along the east side. 

"The East gate's down!" Farah points out.

With the adrenaline coursing through her blood at an all time high, Laila immediately begins to shoot at the insurgents attempting to flood the compound. The M4 is lighter than the AK she'd been trained to use during her time with the Liberation Forces and the recoil is much more bearable. On the flip side, it's more powerful than the pistol she'd been lugging around with the RAMC. The medic fires the gun at every Al-Qatala fighter she can spot and even when the flare dies down, she continues to take shots in the dark. 

"Popping a flare," Alex calls out. 

Once more, the field is lit up and her heart beat accelerates once she realizes just how outnumbered they truly are. Laila doesn't let up until she hears a plea for help from below. 

"I'm hit, I'm hit!" 

"Mikey!" 

Quickly disregarding her position, she crawls to the other side of the roof and watches on in panic as the marine attempts to drag his comrade to safety. The medic in her cannot merely stand idle watching this ordeal and drops down to assist them despite Hadir's assertive order for her to retreat. 

Laila is out of breath as she grabs the legs of the injured soldier to help prop him up against the side of the building and he lets out a howl at the action. "I'm sorry man, they got me- they got me." 

"I'll get you inside buddy," his comrade promises. 

"Where are you hit?" Laila asks hurriedly over the gunshots. "Garrick cover us!" 

The sergeant looks startled by her presence, but doesn't have time to question her when the bullets begin to whizz past them. 

"My leg-," he gasps. "The blast and the bullet-"

Laila looks down to find the man's left leg barely hanging on to the bone below the knee, but it doesn't seem to phase her as she sifts through her pockets. Everything is moving so quickly that she can't stop to feel sickened by the grizzly sight. 

"Leave him!" She can hear Price order and she grits her teeth at the obscene idea of leaving a breathing man behind to bleed out. Laila is so obsessed with the idea of helping this man that she cannot even find it in her to respond with a harsh reply itching on the tip of her tongue. 

"Can he still make i-"

Before the worried marine can express his concerns she interrupts with a dismissive question of, "Do you have a knife?" 

He hesitates once he realizes the implications of the situation.

"Yeah." He reaches in the tactical vest he has on and hands over the weapon. "The fuck are you going to do?" 

"I'm going to save his life!" She hurls back. Before Laila can do anything more than take the handle, a burning sensation floods her right arm and the limb feels as though it has been lit on fire. "Bastard!" 

Laila can't tell if she's been shot directly or merely grazed, clutching on to her arm desperately as she groans loudly at the pain. She doesn't hide the involuntary noises her body is making, knowing doing so will only hurt her more. Unfortunately, it doesn't fail to grab Price's attention. 

"Red!" The captain warns. "If you don't leave 'em I'll have your fuckin' head!" 

"Have it and shove it," she throws over her shoulder, missing the cautious look Farah is sending at her back. She can hear Price calling her every unpleasant name in the book under his breath. 

Disregarding the injury with a grit of her teeth, she readjusts her grasp on the knife and stares intently at the marine still holding onto his fallen friend. 

"I want you to cover us while I cut what's left of the leg," Laila instructs. Ideally, she'd want to keep the limb intact, but it's been so severely damaged, hanging from bits of flesh and veins, that an amputation would be his only hope at this moment. "Farah, your lighter!" 

The Commander successfully takes a shot at an AQ fighter and then follows the request. "Catch, sister!" 

With her good arm, she manages to catch the piece of metal and begins to disinfect the knife with the heat. "I sincerely apologize for this, sir." 

"What are you-" she hears the panic setting in his weak voice, but stabs him with a dose of propofol in his arm before he can attempt to crawl away from her. 

"Sorry," she whispers mournfully. Within a minute or two, he slips into unconsciousness and she knows she must work diligently before a hemorrhage successfully kills him. At least now, he won't be in pain anymore- that is, until he wakes up. 

Laila grimaces as she cuts away at the leg, careful not to accidentally hit something she doesn't mean to hit. She's never really done a crummy amputation like this and that's all thanks to the limited supplies combat medics are provided with. People with these types of injuries were not encouraged to be treated on the field, as well. There was absolutely nothing she could've done to save the leg and the knife is not a medical instrument by no means, but it will have to do. 

Ripping off her red scarf, she makes a tight knot above the stump to slow the bleeding while she heats up the knife again. This time, Ahmed waits until the metal is glowing from the fire. 

All of a sudden, a warm liquid sensation splatters across the side of her face and she's unable to look towards the thump of a body from next to her. 

"Shit," Laila cries out when she discovers the marine that had dragged Mikey to safety has been killed. When the woman realizes it's his blood on her skin, she sharply inhales, but is unable to do anything to wipe it off of her cheek. 

Untying the silken fabric from the trauma point, Laila harshly presses the hot knife to the stump and it's enough to get the marine to wail, even with the anesthesia. The smell of the searing flesh is absolutely dreadful and she refrains from gagging at the awful scent. Mikey yelps forward, but his body quickly slumps down like a dead weight and goes unconscious once more- this time due to the overload occurring in his nervous system. 

Before she can check his vitals to make sure he isn't dead, Price yanks her up by the injured arm and she let's out an agonizing whine. "No, please!" 

"Let go of me, John!" Laila begs desperately, not sure if it was due to the pain of the tugging or not knowing if Mikey survived the sketchy procedure for sure. 

"All stations. No movement in the field," Alex's observations makes her aware of the newfound silence. "Go black." 

"Okay, move to the north building for resupply." 

After the captain lets go of the radio, he whips around to the woman and she almost flinches. He doesn't say anything to her now, but that look alone means that he will have a word or two with her later on. 

"Let's top off and gear up inside, Sergeant." 

Kyle joins them outside the door, watching the blood on the young woman's face dry up and the burns glistening on the other side from the helicopter crash. He catches the quick movement of her hand clutching onto her arm as Price lets go of her and he frowns skeptically. 

"Were you hit?" He asks tentatively as the captain begins to pound on the locked door. She pulls a face at this. 

"How odd... I guess so," Laila trails off, turning her head to stare down at the piss poor amputation she'd done to the soldier. As the door opens, the sergeant bends down to pick up her forgotten red neckerchief. 

"I believe this belongs to you." 

Despite the shade, she is still able to pick up on all the blood stains and can't help the groan as she accepts the fabric into her palm. "Thanks." 

They proceed into the armory. 

"Stay low and do not leave this building," Price instructs a surviving embassy employee. "Sergeant, load up. Come and see me." 

"Roger." 

As Kyle goes to resupply and switch out his guns, the older man faces the medic whose face is draining of color- both out of fear for what might come and all that had just transpired in the span of less than 24 hours. 

"You defied my orders," he says in a low voice. "You're going to stay put in here, you hear?"

She scowls at that. "Excuse my bluntness, but I don’t recall doing that to impress you. You asked of me something that I could not follow through with. I would never leave that man to die when he was still alive." 

"Yeah well," he starts smugly. "That wasn't quite what I was referring to, was it?" 

Laila grows silent at this, a bit defeated by the reminder that she had left the residence building even when he had explicitly told her not to do so. 

"Sometimes trying to be the hero will get you in a hellavu 'lot more trouble than you bargained for," Price continues. "There were people back there. Some of 'em needed medical assistance." 

Her jaw slightly drops, shoulders slumping forward in utter disappointment of herself. 

He hadn't left her behind to imply she was not capable of fighting. He had left her behind for her to do the job she was comfortable with and brilliantly trained at.

Helping people. 

Laila was so quick to judge his intentions, she left little to no room for doubts about her assumptions. It simply highlighted her own insecurities more than it did his character. 

"John, I'm-" 

"Copy 4-1, stand by for targets," Price interrupts to reply into the radio. Although he had gotten a message over his headpiece, she knew he was done with the conversation.

She had to force herself to move away from the table as the captain reaches for a crate and she wishes desperately that this day would end soon. Her attention goes towards the employee nearby and visually assesses him. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Laila asks suddenly, to which he struggles to respond. He must think she’s also staff. “I’m a medic. I can help you.” 

“No,” the man breathes out. “I’m alright. Just shaken up by this shit.”

The woman can understand that. “It’s-”

Laila let’s out a whimper as the pain in her arm becomes unbearable, reminding her of the gunshot wound. The employee looks on worriedly as she hunches over with a grimace. 

“Seems like you’re the one hurt somewhere,” he attempts to make a joke, but she can’t find it in her to laugh. “Sorry. There’s a room in here we can hide out in. We’ll be safer inside and you can fix your arm.” 

The reality of having to stitch her own wound and extract the bullet in her own limb worries her a good bit. Whenever Laila could, she would teach the Liberation fighters basic trauma care a few years prior just in case she had been the one to require medical assistance. Even with the RAMC, her co-workers were trained medics so they had each one another’s backs. 

This time, she practically had no one. 

There is the dilemma of doing it herself, which could go wrong in all kinds of ways. Quite frankly, she could wait for Farah to stitch it up once the fighting is completely over- the risk of infection or completely bleeding out would be the downside of this choice. 

With a sigh, Laila nods her head and picks up her medical bag slowly, dreading what is in store for her. 

Price and Garrick seem to be in a serious conversation about their next move and decides wishing them luck would not be appropriate with what she had done. She feels utterly embarrassed- ashamed even. 

As she walks over to the room next to the building’s entrance, Laila wonders if she had been the one to kill Mikey. Yes he had been severely wounded, but had she sealed his fait? Did she make it worse? Was he in more pain than he had to be in his final moments? 

Sitting down onto the cool floor, she unbuckles her bag and takes out the necessary equipment. The hardest part is taking her trench coat off to actually observe the damage done to her arm, wincing as it’s taken out of the sleeve. 

Carefully snipping at her blouse in the general area of the gunshot wound, Laila gnaws at her bottom lip anxiously- a bad habit she really needs to learn to stop. 

Price’s words replay in her head over and over again that she wishes she could just inject herself with some propofol to silence the chastising. Every time he’s criticized her effectively, he never yelled nor swore at her. It was his disappointment that got to her the most. 

Mentally shaking her head at the burdening thoughts, she almost breathes out with relief when there is no sight of a bullet. It’s just a graze, but it still hurts like hell. 

There are two doors that slam, indicating that the Captain and Sergeant have regrouped with the rest of the team. The other door is to the room she is currently sat in and she looks up at the civilian staring down at her sympathetically. 

“I wish I could give you a bottle to wash down,” he admits. “That’s gotta hurt.” 

“Well, I don’t drink anyways,” Laila replies neutrally. She’s tempted to ask him to do the stitches on her behalf, but by the look on his face, she probably shouldn’t count on him. “You can turn away, sir. This won’t be a pretty sight.” 

And so he does. 

\- 

The time passed is unclear, but the constant explosions and gunfire from outside must’ve been going on for at least an hour or so. For a moment, Laila almost feels like a little girl again, hiding under the bed when the bombs were going off outside of her home. This time around, she doesn’t feel scared by the noises- she feels numb to it all. 

Her mind wanders back to London. A place she never really would particularly claim to be home, but more so a place she grew familiar with. However, the young woman cannot think of the UK without thinking of Thomas Adams and the last time they had spoken. 

Laila hesitantly glances at the embassy employee seated vertically from her and wonders if she should voice her request. They conversed enough for her to know his name is Steven and that he originally is from Wisconsin.

“Excuse me,” the medic starts. “Do you happen to have a phone on you.” 

The American man laughs. “Want to call the police? Already tried that.” 

If he is from the US, surely he would have family living there waiting for his return. International calls would be a necessity for him to keep in touch with his loved ones while staying overseas for work. 

“May I borrow it, please? It’ll only take a minute.” 

“Knock yourself out.” Steven carefully hands over the mobile. 

Careful not to ruin her new set of stitches, she reaches to accept it and braces herself to dial Thomas’s number. Would he even want to talk to her after her nasty attitude towards him? 

Raising the cellphone to her ear, the phone rings twice...three times and for a fourth.

‘Hello, mate. I’m busy at the moment, but feel free to leave a voicemail. I’ll get back to you when I can. Adams.’ 

The phone lingers on her face for a moment and once the beep for the voicemail rings in her ears, she immediately ends the call with a click.


	11. chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been so long , im sorry . I just now finished this semester and I’ve been holding on to this update for months so I apologize for how crappy it is. This semester has been stressful and I’m working again so there’s that. Thank you for being patient and still sticking around if you’re here

It should've been fairly obvious what the turnout of the embassy mission was by the grim look on Farah's features once Laila had regrouped with the team. Perhaps, apart of her refused to believe that the hell they had endured was for absolutely nothing- it had been a day of complete and utter failure. However, the grief that painted itself on the commander's face was just too painfully obvious to disregard and settle with ignorance towards the reality of what occurred. 

Ahmed wanted so desperately to console, not only her leader, but her dear friend. To assure her none of this was her doing.

The young woman hasn't been near a clock in quite a while and the watch around her wrist remains running on UK time. There never really was time to correctly alter the hands. She can only assume that it is either 3 or 4 AM at the moment. Although the time is very late into the night, Urzikstan never seems to rest her weary head no matter how much violence she is put through. 

Laila stares upwards from the side of the worn down building at the figures sat atop the familiar roof. This is where the Liberation, more specifically Hadir and Farah, took watch almost every night. The young woman wavers to join whoever is there, fearful of what they might say in response to her disobedience. 

"Quite a move back there." 

The medic whips around at Garrick's voice as he casually trails up from behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks exhausted and frustrated all at the same time. 

"Kyle, I'm so sorry for what I did-"

"You've got such a knack for apologies," he interrupts with a hint of lighthearted irritancy. "You'd be brilliant at writing sentimental cards." 

Laila purses her lips when she almost slips out another 'sorry'. He was seemingly attempting to give her appraisal for her work, not chastisement. She didn't want to make the same mistake she had made with the Captain and decides not to divulge in her doubts. 

"Well, I reckon I'm always made to feel like I'm doing something terribly wrong." 

He follows her line of vision back up at the rooftop and pieces the puzzle together as he gazes back at her. Her eyes don't meet his, still glued to her comrades. 

"I'm not going to lie to you," Kyle starts carefully. "You still need a bit of work, but I suppose we all did at one point. If you ask me, I bet it's all in your head, doc." 

She's unconvinced. 

"Where did you say you got that scarf of yours, again?" 

The change in topic seems to have woken her up from the brief gaze and she instinctively brushes the silken fabric with her fingertips. It takes her a while to remind him and something about the way he had asked the question made it out as though he did not need one. 

"My mother," Laila responds anyways. She realizes he is waiting for her to talk about the woman from her distant memories, but can't find it in her to efficiently describe Mrs. Ahmed in words. Garrick realizes the medic's silence and assumes this must mean something incredibly dreadful happened. 

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Laila." 

She can't help, but scoff bitterly at the idea of still having no clue what the fate of her mother was. To make things worse, she doesn't even know the exact whereabouts of her father, either. The woman is unsure if it's the lack of resources to do so or her apprehension towards being aware of the truth that prevents her from seeking it out. 

"Don't apologize. I don't even know if she's alive or not." The words tumble out and she physically bites her tongue before elaborating on what she had meant. 

This is war. Loss is everywhere. He didn't need to hear the details. 

"Still." Kyle smiles sadly. "I'm sorry for what you have lost." 

"And I to you," Laila gives back. He didn't need to explicitly say it, but she knew all too well by the look on his face that he's seen more than anyone can possibly handle. The sergeant knew loss like the back of his hand- it is a burden that comes with his title. 

They hold each other's look for a moment, slightly relishing in the brief feeling of mutual empathy. It may have been a quick second, but in this situation, it is a rare thing to stumble upon and even mere seconds are considered treasurable. Kyle nods his head appreciatively, assumingely holding in his emotions as he steers back to the conversation at hand. 

"I'll join the lot up there with you, if you don't mind." Laila's lips part at the generous offer and he pats her shoulder encouragingly. "I've got your back, mate." 

"Thank you, Kyle. I owe you more than anyone in all of London can imagine." 

"Don't mention it." He grins. "You might be the one to save my bloody life some day. I'd say we're even." 

\- 

As they climb up to join Farah and Alex, the strong aroma of Arabic coffee and cigarettes floods her senses with nostalgia. To anyone else, the smell might be a tad overwhelming, but to natives, it serves as a subtle reminder of the motherland. 

They must be taking a break from guarding the base, no longer in their respective positions. Instead, the two are sat in the middle of the roof engaging in a quiet conversation, taking sips from the qahwa glasses and passing rolled tobacco. 

"Welcome to the party," Alex greets as a ring of smoke surrounds his head. However, his tone makes it come off more as a pity party than anything else.

This is not , by any means, a celebratory gathering. It is a funeral. 

Farah glares down at her half empty cup, lost in her thoughts and Laila knows Al-Theeb slipping through their fingers is hitting her more than anyone else. They were all certainly disappointed, but she senses Farah feels especially anguished by the loss the most. 

Laila slowly sits down next to the commander as Alex gets up to speak with Kyle. Karim doesn't look away from her coffee even as she gingerly lays a hand on her arm. 

"That's going to get cold," Laila warns softly. Farah shakes her head, the commander's appetite seemingly lost by whatever is in that head of hers.

"Finish it?" Farah extends the glass to the young woman and the end of her lips twitches for a second at the gesture. 

"No thank you," Ahmed declines. "You need it more than I do, sister." 

Commander Karim sends a careful look over at the two men in a serious discussion and leans in closer. 

"What was that back there?" 

Laila sighs tiredly and she herself isn't too sure of what that was, either. She asked it in Arabic and although Alex has grown exceptionally familiar with the language, he is no where near fluent. Even if they were within his earshot, he would be unable to decipher anything. This is now private. 

"Wallah, I don't know." 

Farah doesn't seem to be satisfied with that answer as she frowns slightly.

"I was doing what I thought was right, okay? That's all. I was being reckless, I know that now. When I went back to the residence building, all those people...they wound up dead, because of that breech. Had I been there, maybe I could've helped-"

"I'm proud of you, sister." Farah cuts in, sadness still swimming in her eyes. 

This was the very last thing she'd expected the commander to say to her. She wants to refute the admiration and plea that the youngest Karim scold her, but it is left unsaid. If Farah could see something brilliant in what she had done out of recklessness, she should bloody see the brilliancy in her own work. 

"What happened is not your fault." Laila doesn't acknowledge that she had said it in English until the CIA agent joins the conversation. This is, fortunately, the only thing he heard and probably assumes that Farah's feelings were the center of discussion. 

"That's what I've been trying to tell her all damn night," he exclaims. At this, Farah guzzles the bitter coffee and sets the glass down with a clink when she's finished it. 

"Don't tell me you actually fuckin' think you could've done something about tonight..." Kyle trails off and grimaces at the lack of response. "She does. Unbelievable." 

Laila only wishes the sergeant would give himself the same sympathy when it comes to the Piccadilly attack. 

"What happened tonight-"

"Is that the Wolf got away," Farah finishes. "What matters now is that we put an end to his war crimes. Forever." 

"Farah," Alex warns. "I need that son of a bitch alive. Remember that." 

She doesn't reassure him that his request would be fulfilled, but eventually hums at that and looks off into the horizon. "Hadir is out collecting his best. Best weapons. Best fighters. We will ambush Al-Theeb at the Highway of Death, like we have discussed." 

"How can you guarantee this'll work?" Kyle asks carefully. 

"It will." Farah doesn't budge from the confidence, obviously doubting that anything could go wrong. "Hadir knows what he's doing." 

"Not saying the bloke doesn't. You and your brother have proven yourselves to be more than capable," Kyle elaborates. "But all hell can break loose, just like it did today. What we need is a Plan B." 

"The Liberation doesn't do Plan B's" Farah smirks. "We move with the river. Isn't that right sister?" 

"Hm?" Laila perks up when she feels the stares and assumes she's been asked a question that isn’t rhetorical. "Oh, um I suppose." 

It grows quiet, but the young woman hesitantly begins to voice her thoughts and concerns. 

"I will say the Liberation might benefit greatly if we follow some of SAS's protocol. It's been a rather short amount of time working with the team, but just from what I've seen, the way things are executed is absolutely brilliant, Commander. It's very organized- something I think we should learn from." 

Farah smiles softly at the younger woman and is amused by the timid suggestion. "You've come a long way, Laila Ahmed." 

"Group meeting?" 

The group peeks over at the new presence on the roof. It is rather dark, but by the gruff British voice alone, it's fairly obvious that the man is Price. 

Alex kneels down and begins to pour coffee into three glasses, refilling his and Farah's afterwards. As he hands over the warm cup to Laila, she looks up at him and smiles. He winks back. 

"Shukran," the medic says. 

"I'm assuming that means thank you." 

"I've taught you well. The villagers might mistake you for one us if you're here any longer," Farah compliments and Echo chuckles at this. 

The SAS Captain chooses to stand as he holds the qahwa, but unlike the rest of the team, he's busied himself with scanning the perimeter. This bloke never takes a break, does he? 

Garrick appears to catch this as well and Laila studies the sergeant's silent dilemma to mimic Price. He seems to look up to him and funnily enough, she can't really seem to blame him for that. Laila's eyes flicker to her comrades and watches as Price murmurs something to the sergeant. She figures he's reassuring him to sit down, because Kyle hesitantly rejoins and takes a seat immediately after. 

The three of them begin to explore their Plan B options for the ambush and the young woman eventually excuses herself, brushing the dust off her coat as she gets up. Laila hopes the captain won't mind the company- more specifically - her company. 

"Captain," she greets curtly. He perks an eyebrow as he takes a small sip of the coffee, but doesn't say anything. "I wanted to apologize." 

"Could've fuckin' sworn you already did," he responds over the rim of the cup. 

Laila is initially befuddled by the remark, however, concludes that he's poking fun at the very thing Kyle had brought up earlier. She apologizes too much. He fortunately doesn't seem to be cross with her anymore, but this doesn't do anything to calm her nerves. 

"Yes, I've been told I have that habit." 

He clears his throat at the statement. 

"Yeah...well, make it too much of a habit and people might not think you're being sincere," Price advises quietly. She mules over the words and realizes she had never thought of it like that. "This isn't the proper place for grudges and I'm not warm to the idea of babysitting you, or Kyle, for that matter. But don't think for a fuckin' second that I will forget about tonight." 

"I suppose that's fair," Laila agrees. She's hesitant to toss sarcasm in there, but decides on it anyways. 

"I'm not sorry for what I did?" 

Price doesn't laugh at the joke, but he looks rather amused towards the rubbish attempt at one. "Had I managed to save a life by being an utter twat, I wouldn't be either." 

Silence follows and Price's gaze seems to have left the ground below them to something that's caught his eye on her coat sleeve. She shifts her focus to her arm and realizes there's blood exactly from where she'd been grazed earlier. 

"You need a proper uniform, doc. See to it you actually wear the fuckin' thing when we manage to get our hands on one." 

"Doesn't seem as though I have much of a choice. This coat is absolutely soil-" Laila stops in her tracks. 

Wait a minute...Save a life? I saved a life? 

"Bloke's in surgery at the moment," the captain offers casually, leaning over to look at their surroundings once more. He is already aware to the fact she's caught on to his peculiar word choice by the shock that has suddenly dawned upon her. 

Laila's mouth gapes open and before she can inquire about the wounded man's location, Price adds "Nearest hospital. Haven't got a fuckin' clue what the name is."

The medic frantically dashes down from the roof as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. Had she been paying attention, Laila would've heard 'what a muppet' slip out from under his breath before nonchalantly taking another sip of the dark liquid.

"Laila?" She can hear Garrick's concerned voice from the top of the building, but she cannot stop to offer an explanation. Laila figures Price is more than capable of doing that on her behalf. 

"Are you mental?" 

So once more, the woman is greeted with the familiar refreshing breeze of Urzikstan's cool nights. Her legs carry her as quick as they possibly can, scarf slightly loosening and her dark hair whipping around wherever the wind takes it. Perhaps this is completely inappropriate timing, but she wants to laugh. But she also wants to sob and scream at the top of her lungs until everything she feels boiling inside of her is let out. However, Laila figures the tears sliding down her face will do the trick. Semi- decently, at least.

She recalls her father reading a book about how the tears in someone's eyes can turn their surroundings into a river and how everything they saw looked as though it were drowning. It was a book of brutal wars and excruciating loss. Displacement in your own home. Now she fully understands just what they had meant, because once Laila reaches the hospital, the building looks as though under water. 

Eventually, she reties the red scarf securely and aggressively wipes away at her face to rid of the stray tears. 

Her face must look flushed and puffy by now, but she doesn't care in the slightest of what she may look like. With a shaky breath, she enters the hospital and starts her search for the wounded soldier she had tried to save- well, did save. The idea is still difficult to fully process. 

"Salam, can we help you?" The receptionist greets, bags underneath her eyes. Laila quickly glances at the name tag. 'Amal' 

"Salam, Amal." The lady's eyes twinkle for a second, but the blankness returns. "I am a medic. I was informed someone I had treated on the field was transferred here. I wish to see how he's fairing given the extent of his injuries." 

"The name?" 

Ah, yes. His name. "Well, I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure. Mikey- possibly short for Michael. Amputated leg." 

Amal takes in her frazzled appearance with a slightly judgmental once over and Laila cannot do anything, but stand there awkwardly. She attempts her best to smile at the lady behind the desk. 

"Would you like to be treated, as well?" 

On cue, her arm burns like hell and she looks down to see fresh blood seeping into the same red stain on her coat that had been dried up. She somehow must have torn her stitches when she was running here, too high off of the adrenaline to notice. It had probably occurred when she nearly dodged a car that almost ran her over during her travel. 

"I should, shouldn't I..."

-

With her stitches (properly) done, Laila stands in the elevator alone, her coat folded against her arm as a free hand nervously twirls with one end of her scarf. There's a small bandage on her cheek where she had painfully skidded across the roof during the helo crash. Disinfecting the wound almost hurt just as much as actually getting it.

In regards to Michael, Laila is in the dark. Unfortunately, the receptionist had informed her it was too late for visitors and she was not related to the patient by no means. Not even considered a family friend to him at least. However, surprisingly enough, the surgeon that had operated on the soldier apparently requested a meeting with her. Laila doesn't want to assume the worst, but in a rare scenario like this, how can she not? She has no clue what she could potentially be walking into. For all she knows, she'd walk out of the hospital with all her certifications stripped away for the stunt she pulled.

Her eyes stay glued at the numbers jumping from 2 to 3 and then it pauses on the floor not quite exactly where she is heading. Someone will be joining her. 

The doors slide open and Laila doesn't pay attention to the person who enters the quaint elevator. From her peripherals, she knows it's a man and that he is staring for far too long. 

"Wow, you look like shit." 

The doors close and Laila's hair flips over one shoulder when she turns to him. The way he had blurted it seems like it was unintentional word vomit. She recognizes the flag on his military uniform, indicating he's American. Of course.

"I beg your pardon-"

"No! No! No, that's not what I meant. Geez. Fuck." 

She remains silent, still processing what he had just said out loud. "I refuse to believe there's a hidden meaning behind telling someone they look like shit." 

He nervously rubs the back of his neck and Laila does not fail to notice the blush quickly creeping up his cheeks. What the bloody hell is he blushing for? The elevator stops, but the stranger doesn't make any move to walk out, seemingly planted to his spot. 

"Are you alright, sir?" 

"Fuck," the young man swears quietly again. "Yeah- Um, I'm- yeah. I'm fine." 

The pink hue to his cheeks. The seemingly clammy palms. Lack of sweat. Dilated pupils. 

"You must be dehydrated," she clicks her tongue. "Oh dear. I have some water. Here: I haven't opened it yet, but you should be in proper shape after having a drink." 

"What?" The stranger seems to be confused. Poor lad must be hallucinating from the dehydration. "No, no. Seriously, I'm fine." 

"I'm a medic, I promise I haven't poisoned it," Laila urges him to accept the offer. Before he takes the bottle, there is an expression on his face she can't quite decipher. "Strange...how long ago were you given an IV? You are discharged, correct?" 

He takes a sip of the water, his Adam's apple bobbing and his eyes train on her as he does so. 

"Got some gnarly stitches on my hand. That's all. It was really nothing." He peers at her bandages and the small scrapes to her face. "What about you? What happened to your arm?" 

Before Laila can answer his question, she is distracted by the pen he quickly pulls out of his pocket. Her eyebrows furrow as he promptly scribbles something on the bottle, now half full, and the elevator behind her finally opens. The awkward tension gave an illusion that hours has passed waiting in the stuffy old elevator before arriving at the 7th level.

"Well, this is my floor...nice meeting you." 

"Wait!" He pleads. "Take this back. Maybe you'll need it- or something. Maybe." 

Laila skeptically stares down at the bottle and back to his face for a few moments, her good arm stretched across the elevator door to prevent it from closing. Poor lad seems to be suffering from a concussion, as well. 

"I suppose," she nods. "Again, I must leave. Good luck, soldier." 

The color from earlier rushes back to the stranger's cheeks and offers a rather handsome smile, seemingly unable to bid a farewell back. He hadn't even said thank you...

'That was rather odd.'

Without a second thought, she places the water back inside her bag where it had originally been and walks up to one of the doors in the hall. Room 703. 

Before Laila can knock, footsteps come from next to her and she figures this is the doctor that had requested to speak with her. It's either that or she had something funny on her face by the way he is studying her. 

"You must be Lily Adams," he removes a glove and extends his hand for her to shake. "I'm Dr. Abadi." 

"Pleasure," she murmurs nervously, gently placing her palm in his wrinkly one. The surgeon takes out a set of keys and opens the door to the meeting room. 

"Please, take a seat," Dr. Abadi offers and pulls out a chair for her. "May I say, I have never witnessed a British medic perform such a gruesome...reckless procedure. It is a first for me." 

The young woman holds back a physical cringe at the observation and should have known this man would be utterly disturbed by her spur of the moment decision. An amputation? In an active war zone? With nothing but a switchblade and some heavy anesthetics? Laila can't find any justification for doing so and keeps her mouth shut. 

"The American was rushed in with more damage to his leg than his injury probably caused." Dr. Abadi leans back in his chair, assessing her quiet demeanor. "Had he been left there, he'd been dead. Hemorrhage. Severe blood loss. Though, combat medics would normally attempt to place pressure on the wound instead of amputating a limb and singing it shut. So why?" 

"I-" Don't apologize. You heard the Captain loud and clear. "I don't know." 

"Hm" he takes a moment to think of his next words carefully. Something suddenly flashes in his eyes and he hones in on her neck. Laila quickly peaks down and finds her red scarf. It is recognition in his eyes. 

"I knew of a woman who wore a scarf quite like yours." Dr. Abadi narrows his eyes. "Very beautiful, she was." 

Her palms squeezes her own knee comfortingly and she can't help, but ask, "What is her name?" 

"Cannot remember her first name. However, she was wedded to a doctor I worked for. Owned a very successful hospital not far from here. One of Urzikstan's finest." 

Laila's blood runs cold and her throat grows dry towards the hesitant admittance. Her fingers slowly reach up and clutch the end of the red fabric tightly and inhales a shaky breath of air. 

"Dr. Qasim?" 

It's silent. 

"How..." the surgeon studies her closely and seems utterly shocked. "You know of Dr. Qasim?" 

Laila isn't sure if it is a good idea to divulge her relation to the woman and man he knew of from long ago, but perhaps it could assist her in the sticky situation she has found herself in. However, it sounds horribly wrong of her to use that to an advantage and decides against it, but it seems Abadi has figured it all out. 

"You're the Ahmed girl?" He questions. "Aren't you?" 

"Yes. I am she." She sits up straighter in her chair, chin slightly raised. There is no reason to be timid and guilty anymore. "I am Laila Ahmed. Only Lily Adams to the Brits." 

He seems to smirk at this and also sits up in his own chair. "My statements still stand. Amputating that soldier's leg was reckless and unprofessional." 

Before she can waver from the newfound confidence, he beats her to it.

"But," he exclaims suddenly with a lighter tone. "I have requested your presence to inform you that I am thoroughly impressed with your quick thinking. He will have a lengthy and painful recovery ahead of him, but he is not dead. Ahmed or not, this hospital would benefit greatly with a sharp mind and efficient hands. The war has taken the lives of the most excellent nurses and doctors I had. We are desperate for all the help we can get." 

"Are you...offering me a job?" Her eyes widen at the unexpected turn of events. This is the last thing she had anticipated. "I am afraid I am already working under Captain Price. Special Services." 

"Temporarily? No?" 

"Temporarily," she confirms quietly. Laila feels as though she's in the hot seat and the burn is killing her. "This is all rather much, with all due respect. This is something I need to think about."

"Why of course! My apologies!" Dr. Abadi gets up. "I did not mean to frighten you, accepting a job so high risk is something that takes time to accept. If you ever find yourself in search of a position after your work with the British, please think of Urzikstan. Here is my card." 

Please think of Urzikstan doesn't leave her mind as she exits the hospital.


End file.
